


you're cold and I burn

by styles_allure



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Louis, Bottom Harry, Daddy Issues, Enemies to Lovers, Fanfiction, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Harry is trouble, I suck at tagging, I'm Sorry, Liam Payne & Louis Tomlinson Are Brothers, Louis likes pretty colors, M/M, Painting, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Top Louis, a lot of sexual tension, larry fic, side Ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 77,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/styles_allure/pseuds/styles_allure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis' love for pretty colors and aesthetics, paired with his immense passion for painting beautiful flowers has stars in his eyes and thoughts of a successful career. </p>
<p>unfortunately, budding artists will struggle at first, so, cue the unwanted roommate. it only gets worse when the new addition is a sarcastic, flirty, and style-ignorant annoyance. all complete with a dingy leather jacket and a vast array of tattoos.<br/> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is a struggling artist, Niall is his best friend.

Everything is lavender. 

Intricate swirls and various shades of color. The one that embodies simple and calm, quiet. It’s the color of nature’s most beautiful flower, sending your brain into a perceptual relaxation. It’s all around and it hangs from the ceiling, all the way to the floor and then lacing the walls. It’s so pure, and it feels like a dream, like an after thought and a slight brush of the hand over hot clammy skin. It’s the deep breath and the expansion of your lungs as your eyes close and the stress seems to evaporate. The forgiving smile, and the way the air seems to hit you just right, sending chills up your spine. It’s all lavender. 

As a (self proclaimed) artist, Louis sees the finer things in each color, giving them each a personality and describing how they make him feel. And sometimes it’s simple and sometimes it’s a little more intimate. Like that obvious difference between red and sky blue. Lavender though, that is where he’s been floating around for the past few days. And suddenly his wardrobe seems to consist of it and so do his shower curtains.

It gives the flat that relaxing feel, and if you don’t enjoy the scent then you, my friend, have not experienced it’s full effect. 

His feet seem to glide over the hardwood, humming quietly to himself as he lights the third candle today, because they’re not nearly strong enough alone and Louis wants to completely submerge himself in the delightful aroma. His canvas is still quite blank and vacant, and he’s pursing his lips, because yeah, it’s fucking frustrating that he’s still not put a painting out this week. But art can’t be rushed, you see, as each and every piece comes with ample time and thought. It’s laid in the middle of his living room, propped up with various brushes in front, waiting to be used, pretty much screaming not to be neglected. 

But how does one simply force themselves into motivation without the proper amount of inspiration? He’s sat in front of that canvas for hours, begging his brain to think deeper, trying to weasel into the crevices of his mind to find forbidden treasures that would most certainly make an exquisite painting. But every single fucking time he’s coming up empty handed, and then it just gets worst from there. Because nothing beautiful ever comes from anger and annoyance. Only glossy and fogged perceptions of reality, and he wants no part in that, no. Because he wants to make people feel _good,_ or _elated._

So, with a small and slight shrug of his shoulders he’s sauntering off into his room, flopping down on his bed and letting himself get lost in the thick blankets. He feels like he’s being suffocated in the best way, perhaps in an array of clouds and he’s floating around. Lost in bliss. And no, he’s not thinking about the stress of his upcoming bills and no, he’s not going to acknowledge the pit of worry that’s eating away at his stomach. He refuses to linger on the negatives in the world for as long as he possibly can. 

Which lasts for a total of about five seconds before his phone is ringing and breaking him from his peaceful endeavor. Hopefully, it’s not the landlord asking where Louis’ rent is, considering he’s around three days late. Or the electric company, or the water company. (he’s falling a little behind on his bills, but no one said life as an artist would be easy.) It’s always hard at first. 

Luckily, it’s a familiar face and name that’s lighting up his screen, and the small smile is more than evident on Louis’ face as he scrolls to answer. “Liam, how’ve you been, beautiful?”

“Most divine, thank you. You seem to be chipper today, what’s the oh-ccasion?”

“Nothing, just enjoying the world, I’ve decorated in lavender, Liam. You know, the color of calm?” Louis picks at his nails, removing any remnants that may have been lodged during his last little project. Which actually turned out to be a complete bust. 

“What happened to ‘tree-canopy’ green?”

“Still one of my favorites, but after all the stress of this week I needed to be surrounded in something that would help me breathe a little easier. The color of nature doesn’t do much when you’re bordering a panic attack, you know.”

“Why are you bordering a panic attack? Is this because of money, again?”

Louis lifts himself from the bed, blissfully and easily as he finds his way into the bathroom, lighting another candle before running a stream of burning hot water, “Money is but an object, something that defines worth, and it’s not going to bog me down. I refuse to worry about paper, when my mind is better occupied elsewhere.”

“You live alone, Louis. You need a steady source of income. You have responsibilities and such, it’s not the time to brush everything off like it’s not important.”

“What other choice do I have, exactly? I cannot force myself into a painting, you know that they come when they’re ready. There’s nothing I can do to speed the process. Is this news to you?”

“No. But, you’re like a brother to me and I refuse to watch you lose yourself in debt because you’re so focused on being artistic about everything. Call dad, tell him you need a little help. But you need to start looking for another job, just t’give you that stability, okay?”

“Breaking every individual bone in my body sounds more enjoyable than that, Liam.” Louis murmurs. Steam is rolling over the surface of the water as he dips his toes in, feeling the heat run in bursts up his legs. All over his body, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “I told him if he wouldn’t be supportive of my lifestyle, then I didn’t want him in my life at all. He pounded it into my head that I would certainly meet failure, but this is what makes me happy. I can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I need his help.”

“So you admit it,” Liam says through the line, and Louis’ body is matching the temperature of the water, mostly because he’s starting to get really pissed off, “You need dad’s help?”

“Don’t fucking start this, he has a formal invitation to kiss my ass, that’s about it. I don’t want his pity.”

“You spend too much money decorating your flat in all different colors, then you don’t even have enough to pay your fucking rent, Louis. Do you see a problem here?” Liam’s generally kind voice cuts through the line like a sharpened dagger. And it slices through Louis’ veil, one that cloaks him in faux nonchalance. 

There’s a silence, the heated water jostling under Louis' touch as he tries to stop the inevitable sad that’s spreading over every inch of his body. When he speaks, his voice is a mere whisper, and conveys everything that Louis is feeling right now, “The colors make me feel better.”

A deep breath, and Louis can almost hear Liam shake his head, “I’m sorry, I know they do. I’m looking out for what’s best for you, we’ve grown up together. And your dad might have wanted a different career path for you, but he loves you, and he will always help you if you need it, Louis. And you _do_ need it.”

Louis hates, absolutely despises having to go to his dad for any kind of money. The thought of it makes his stomach churn and his eye brows scrunch together. Worry is starting to prick on the edges of his skin now and it only makes the situation worst. “I’ll find another way.” Louis states dryly, before hanging up the phone and sliding it across the bathroom floor. He’s looking at the phone like it’s the most disgusting thing on this planet, which in this exact moment, is precisely what it is. 

He knows that Liam only wants the best for him, and though blood is not a connection they share, they did grow up under the same roof. So yes, he knows that since Louis was little he has always been more interested in his art class than his mathematics class. And that his brain just functions differently. He likes to indulge on the tiny details that are always overlooked regularly. He struggles with anything remotely close to calculus and passing world history was a miracle in itself. But he can recite to you the famous artists of the Baroque era, and how they compare to artists in the classical time period. 

When he earned scowls from his math teacher and praise from his art teacher, he knew where his future truly belonged. But his dad was positively furious. Disappointed. Because his son, in comparison to _mastermind_ Liam, was only spectacular in everything that didn’t matter. He threw away Louis’ sculptures like they were rubbage and hung Liam’s math tests on the refrigerator. He looked down on Louis, the son who would never amount to what he was supposed to. It shattered Louis’ entire being. Because he wants nothing more than to have someone be proud of him, to look at him and be impressed with the hard work he puts into every single piece. 

But that was an empty hope. And this candle isn’t strong enough because his heart beat is louder than his thoughts. 

He focuses on the water instead. Dipping his fingers in and out, running them over the surface. His body is contorted, his hands looking bigger when they’ve delved into the water than when they’re free in the oxygen. The candle is flickering and the sound of fire cackling is making his eyes weary and tired. But falling asleep in the bathtub would most likely end in him drowning. And he’s not about be found dead while he’s naked. He’s got a lavender bathrobe hanging on the door, that’s dangerously close to the lit candle on the counter and he’s kind of wishing it would catch fire and burn this place down with him in it. And maybe Louis has a habit of exaggerating. Just a bit. 

So its a quick wash of the hair, dragging the soap over his body in a rush so that he can escape from the heat and move to the bed, rather. The conversations with Liam almost always make Louis feel better, but now he’s overthinking everything. Wondering what he could possibly do to make up the money that he’s short on. And maybe spending a couple hundred on all these neat lavender decorations wasn’t the best idea. But in the way Louis justifies things, it made complete sense. It always does. And when his body is relaxed and he feels at ease he knows it was worth it. But maybe it wasn’t this time. He’s not quite sure. 

His mind is a scattered mess now, and thank you Liam fucking Payne for that. (He was completely fine and in a state of pure content before he had to call and ripple the satin smooth comfort Louis was feeling.) 

It looks like a sleepless night is about to ensue, and though Louis is utterly annoyed he knows that no matter how fast his legs can move he can’t run away from all of his problems. He always has this habit, of losing his head in the clouds and stepping away from anything that could cause any kind of stress. Which is why he failed so many exams, and forgotten about so many assignments, and had spaced out when he should’ve been taking notes.

And fuck, Louis was such a bad student. 

Either way, there was no sense in dwelling on the past, letting unnecessary memories overtake your mind and watching your body helplessly react. So he slams his face into the pillow instead, not bothering to get dressed before he intertwines himself and his still-kind-of-wet limbs into the blankets. 

 

****

 

When the sun streams through the windows, it seems to be looking down on its golden kingdom, lighting everything in the room, and casting hanging shadows. It’s simply beautiful, and if there were any way to capture the elegance of a sun ray in his paintings, he would most surely do exactly that. He’s not sure that he ever wants to get up and endure any kind of social interaction when his brain is already feeling pretty sore after the contemplation of calling his asshole of a father, all hours of the previous night. But, as he world might have it, he does have to go out and visit a few art museums and try for any kind of unseen inspiration that could be the breeding ground for numerous works of art. 

And maybe one day he could have his paintings hanging on those displays. 

He has absolutely no trouble recreating _Assumption of the Virgin_ by Annibale Carracci, but he has the hardest fucking time getting himself out of bed in the morning. And after getting a cumulative three hours of sleep last night he was justified for his body feeling emphatically like a bag of bricks and he wanted nothing more than to relocate to the couch, blanket and all, and not move a single inch. For hours. Maybe days. Maybe even forever. Because the real world has people who have their shit together which is the exact opposite of Louis’ situation and the whole embarrassment thing makes him want to shove his head through a wall.

_“Yeah, you may have a house that you can afford and a well paying job, but I have a pretty shower curtain and the bath towels to match. So, whose the real winner here?”_

Time was pressing with every tick of that analog clock (which is also lavender, and yes, very pretty.) And the coffee maker is beckoning him from the kitchen. He’s half debating throwing a tiny swig of bourbon in it to wake him up a bit. But considering alcohol is a depressant, and he’s not a drinker, it would probably only make his day even worst than it already is. When he finally stands, he realizes he’s still butt-ass naked, and the freedom feels lovely. Because yeah, this is his flat. And if he wants to walk around with his wanker hanging all over god’s creation then he will as he damn well pleases. 

However, with a shallow sigh and a sad attempt to tame his fringe, he’s walking into the kitchen. His eyes run over all the decor, lighting up with the intricate flower vases, and the matching lavender dish set. It’s quite charming, actually, and he couldn’t be more proud of the way his flat has turned out this week. Perhaps he should be an interior designer, but he much prefers paint brushes over furniture and this way he doesn’t have to work alongside a crew. He’s always been more of a freelance person, if you will. Though he knows how to keep a conversation going, and he’s more than likely to make everyone a friend rather than a stranger. When it comes to art, he’s a bit more serious, and it all comes from the confines of his brain. He just wouldn’t be able to convey his ideas to another person without warping it and changing the end masterpiece all together. 

Peinture and Artista Gallery seem to be on his to-do list for today, and while the coffee is heating, he’s picking out an outfit for the day. Something that’s nice enough to be presentable, maybe hide the fact he feels like absolute shit, while being casual enough to not make him seem over the top. He doesn’t very much feel the need to look like a prince today. He may have eaten a glass of ice and a pickle for dinner last night because that’s all the food he has in his house, but he sure as hell won’t let anyone else know he’s proper poor. 

Running his fingers over his wide variety of comfortable and cashmere sweaters, his fingers land on one in particular, a soft purple that matches his lavender theme seems to be holding him like a magnetic connection. And he can pair it with black skinnies and a neutral scarf. It would simply be the perfect outfit, and he smiles as he pulls the article out from his collection. When he’s sure the sweater is falling from his shoulders in the best way, and that he looks equal parts innocent and able to seduce you without trying, he pads off to the bathroom. Hoping that somehow he can fix the mess of brown chaos that sits atop of his head. Most likely, it’s going to result in some hair gel and a broken brush, but hey, good hair days roll around every now and again. 

Brandishing unsightly black shadows beneath his eyes isn’t the kind of accessory he had in mind, but there’s not anything he can do to fix it. So embrace it, why the fuck not? Right. 

Please, for the love of fuck, let him come back with an idea in his head that's sure to sell for some (any) money. Louis’ tired of checking his bank account religiously to make sure he’s not even further in the negatives. Yes, the admission is lingering on the tip of his tongue, begging for him to say the words and make the connection in his mind. That yes, he’s royally screwed himself over by not going to university and giving him something to fall back on if the whole art gig didn’t work out like he had planned. He’s pretty much fucked himself with his pride and shamelessly enjoyed every second of it. He’s a pain in his own ass. 

But, he’s not calling his dad for any help, period. End of discussion. He’d bungee jump with a broken cord before doing that. 

His vans are beginning to fall apart by the exhaustion of wearing them everywhere. Mostly walking to the nearest tube station. Because his insurance was suspended and his car is emptied of any petrol. He’s about as broke as they come. But the weather is stunning, cool air masked by the gentle heat of a bright sun. The leaves are dancing across the pavement, being looked down upon by an empty sky with endless splotches of blue. It’s going to take approximately forty five minutes to get to his first destination, so he decides to pull his phone out and welcome along any prospective company. 

He only has to think for a few seconds before a name pops into his mind. Someone who has been his friend for years now, and though they're utterly loud, he can't think of another lad he'd rather spend his day with. Considering this one has happiness oozing from his pores all hours of the day. And he never stops smiling. He'll wear you out faster than a day at the gym. But, he's Irish, and sometimes his accent makes it less annoying. 

Niall Horan, he’s most likely free and he enjoys having the day occupied with the likes of Louis and his never ending sarcasm. 

The phone only rings once before a distinguishable Irish accent is half yelling on the other end, “Louis fucking Tomlinson. Mate, how the hell have you been?”

“We just talked two days ago, no need for the excitement, though it’s much appreciated, thanks.” Louis snorts, waiting for the tube to appear. 

“Missed ya anyway, so why’ya callin’ then? Need someone to listen while you aimlessly talk about the ignorance of why people don’t understand the color spectrum?” Niall asks, completely unfazed. 

“Not quite, plus that would be a pointless rant any way. I’m dabbling in a bit of an art adventure this wonderful afternoon, was wondering if you wanted to join and give me someone to talk to, what d’ya say?”

“Of course, of course. Have you left already? Think I hear people talking in the background.”

Louis gasps in fake offense, “What makes you think I don’t have people over at my flat?”

“Because,” Niall says, voice completely barren of any emotion, “You’re anti social and you hate everything. And last time you had people over you told me that was enough social interaction for the year.”

“Moving on,” Louis raises his brows, knowing Niall can’t see anyway. Not everyone can be as excited about everything as him, after all. We’re not all loud Irish men with bright-ass blonde hair and even brighter blue eyes. Plus, everyone seems to like his jokes, Louis just deadpans the puns away. “You are the one human out of a few who don’t make me despise my entire existence. Congrats.” 

Once, when they decided to have a nice dinner with Liam, Niall had everyone in the restaurant laughing off their asses, even though those jokes were nowhere near funny. They were laughing because Liam was cackling so hard he was clapping like a seal. And if Liam weren’t already interested in a certain raven-haired fellow, Louis would most definitely assume he had a bit of a crush on Niall. He was probably just elated that Louis had a best friend to spend his time with instead of always begging Liam, like when they were a kid. In fact, Louis had given up on Liam long before he met Niall, because he would always shoot Louis’ plans down with the obligations of “homework.” or “studying.”

What a proper bore. 

“An endearing compliment. Did you want to grab something to eat while we’re out? We can turn this into an all-day event, I have nothing better t’do.”

“I can’t even afford a loaf of bread.” 

“Shit, money problems again?” Niall’s voice got softer towards the end. He hates, absolutely _hates_ that everyone knows him as the one whose always submerged in ‘money problems.’ Knowing that he’s pretty much fucked in every aspect because he just had to do something that made him happy versus trying to force himself into some scholarship that he would’ve dreaded every second of. Why did he have to suck at anything involving numbers, or equations, or anything that wasn’t particularly pretty? He just enjoys the aesthetics of life, and there was an obvious fault in that. Because until his work was finally discovered, he would be barely getting by and substituting meals for gum, being that he can’t afford a proper meal. Or his rent, which he’s now four days late on. Lovely.

It’s sad. No, it’s more than sad, it’s pathetic. It’s pathetic that he can’t support himself. And even more pathetic that he can’t, just _can’t_ bring himself to ask for help. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror and face defeat, knowing he failed, just as his father had told him. And he’s taken Liam’s words to heart, he really has. About, “it’s not wrong to go to your parents for help. Everyone needs a hand every now and again.” But Louis could only reply with, “except for you, of course.” And that was the end of that conversation. Liam’s a full stepping stool above him, and how embarrassing is it that while he can live without any problems and a damn good job, all while attending university, Louis is lucky if his water doesn’t get cut off before he can take a full shower. 

“Not in my vocab, sorry pal. Nothing is a problem, just a mere obstacle, is all. But, Doesn’t matter, I’m heading to the Artista Gallery now, how fast can your short legs get you there?”

“I can leave here in about fifteen, just hop in the shower for a quick scrub and I’ll be good t’go.” He loves that Niall doesn’t press the situation further. But after their last argument it was the smartest choice for him to make. It started as friendly banter, then moved to the whole money situation, and as soon as Niall asked if Louis needed a bit of a loan from him, he lost his absolute shit. No, he doesn’t want any hand outs. This place was where he landed based on his own decisions, and he’s not about to syphon cash off of his friends. There it is again, that damn pride. 

“Perfect, shoot me a text once you’ve arrived and I’ll come to meet you, and vice versa. Deal? I could always look for a blonde quiff sticking up above everyone else, but I’m feeling particularly lazy today.”

“Yeah, yeah. Deal.”

 

****

 

The art gallery is simply stunning, paintings covering the walls in massive precision and so much talent is packed into this place its almost overwhelming. Louis adores it here, and at the same time it makes his heart crumble to pieces because this is his dream. Everything he’s ever wanted in his life is to have his work put on these walls. His name held up with the likes of extremely talented artists. It’s a far cry, knowing there’s a one in a million chance that this would ever happen to him. And those aren’t the best odds, he knows, but it’s worth a try. It’s full of intricate sculptures and some of the weirdest shit to ever grace his eyes, but it’s so, so lovely. Almost breathtaking, and it almost feels like home. No classroom, nor textbook, or cubicle office could ever compare to the warm feeling he gets looking over every piece and admiring the work each person has put into with sweaty hands and sleepless nights. 

Art is so beautiful.

Louis’ surprised he’s made it here before Niall, considering Niall has an actual car while Louis depends his heart and soul on public transportation. He finds himself asking how quickly he’d die if he walked straight into the busy traffic filled street when he glances at his phone and see’s the inevitable missed call from his landlord. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ If he’s evicted he’s going to be calling a cardboard box ‘home’ and the thought makes him instantly nauseous. He knew it was coming, he was anticipating it and trying to wrack his brain for a good excuse. Because as much as he’d like to believe, saying “I’m broke because I want to paint pictures instead of getting a job with a paycheck, and daddy is _not_ going to help me because he’s a proper fuckhead and I don’t want his help anywhere near me.” just won’t work very well.

He hasn’t told his landlord that he currently doesn’t have a job nor a steady source of income. He also hasn’t told her that he wasn’t really planning on getting one either. He just wants to shoot her a text that says, “I’ve fucked up, please don’t kick me out yet.” But, no.

The little voicemail icon’s popping onto his notifications bar, and since Niall still hasn’t messaged him, it’s time to go ahead and listen to it, get it over with. His heart is starting race when he brings the speaker to his ear, crossing his fingers tightly in his jean pocket. 

“This call is for Louis Tomlinson. Good afternoon, this is Marice calling. I figured you were expecting this considering I still have’t received the rent and it was due promptly on the third of this month. Because I understand that things come up, I’m going to allow you a bit more of a grace period to see if that helps anything. I’m giving you till the end of the month and if the rent is still not delivered, I’m sorry to say that your residency will be terminated and you will have to find other grounds to live on. Give me a call if you have any questions, and have a great day. Hope to receive the payment from you sooner versus later.” And then the line goes dead.

There’s an odd mixture of relief and panic. Because great, he wasn’t immediately kicked out, but how the hell is he supposed to come up with the money by the end of this month, considering a job won’t pay until two weeks after your first day? His entire body is aching to get home and sit in his lavender living room with scent of his candles floating all around him. Louis’ trying to remain as calm as humanly possible and not let the stress fade evidently over his face. But it’s just not possible. He’s going to loose his house, and the thought is starting to become grave and unchangeable.

A text from Niall tries to snap him from his thoughts, but worry has already engulfed him and there’s no escaping it this time. He pulls his sweater up to his nose, using the sleeves to cover his face and letting the soft color overtake him. He’s messing up, screwing himself and his life over, and he just wants to be happy. He only wants to be _happy._

Why is that so much to fucking ask for?

He’s being childish and immature, running away from his problems, that much is obvious. But no matter how hard he’s trying, he can’t break himself from what he loves to do, the only thing that makes him feel like a normal person. Everything else is too hard to comprehend and it makes him feel like an idiot, like he’s not good enough. But there’s this sense of pride that washes over him every time he lays eyes on the art he’s created. The feeling simply can’t be matched. His phone continues to vibrate, and Niall’s calling now, so Louis raises the phone to his ear and paints a smile on his face that could fool anyone, maybe even himself. 

“Sorry mate, didn’t see your message until just a second ago, are you here already?” Louis says, keeping his voice light and acting like he isn’t drowning in his own mind. 

“Yeah, right outside the doors, wanna meet me out here? Gotta present for you!” 

“If it’s anal beads, return them immediately, I’ve already got enough.” Louis jokes (half jokes), waiting for Niall to hang up before putting the phone up and walking towards the front door. Niall is waiting right beside them, looking akin to a fucking ray of sunshine with a smile plastered on his face that can probably be seen from the moon. 

“There’ya are, look here, and don’t get too excited. There’s no toys.” Niall pulls his hand from behind his back, and there’s a tiny little statue. It’s kind of abstract, but it’s smooth as marble and it’s tinted in lavender. Louis blinks as he holds the little sculpture between shaking fingers. “How did you know.. about the lavender?”

“Talked to Liam last night, was asking if he knew how to help me with this math question I had been stuck on for hours. We got to talking about you. Said you were on a lavender kick and I immediately thought of you when I saw it passing the shops right over there.” Niall explained, pointing to the tiny antique shop right down the street. “And you better appreciate it, you little fuck, I stood in line for a whole three minutes."

Louis could only nod along, at a loss for words as he ran his touch over the smooth material. It’s the prettiest thing he’s seen, and he cannot wait to get home and put it right in the middle of his coffee table. Niall is probably (not probably, most definitely) the best, best friend anyone could ever ask for. He’s rocking back and forth on his feet and looking expectantly at Louis and his new addition. Worry is replaced temporarily with appreciation and the warmth that only beauty could give him, along with a certain calming shade of purple. “Three minutes? You were withering away then, huh? But I love it, Niall. You shouldn’t have-“

“Don’t even worry about it. I couldn’t tell you what the hell it represents but it’s pretty and that’s the right color, hopefully. I’m not sure what the difference is between light purple and lavender.” 

“Yeah.” Louis smiled, and its more genuine than before. “And lavender is not simply “purple.” That’s like saying maroon is just red. You overjoyed marshmallow.”

“Maroon _is_ just red.” Niall murmurs under his breath, which Louis choses to ignore because there is no sense in trying to explain the difference to Niall when he has the attention span of a squirrel. Said with love, of course. 

Nonetheless, Louis wants to throw his arms around his neck and hug him for as long as it takes for Niall to pull away. But that would be weird, so, no. Plus, Niall can see the happiness in Louis’ eyes and that’s all he needs anyway. The wispy moment only lasts for a couple seconds because a realization has hit Louis with the intensity of a freight train. He’s run out of all options, and time, for that matter. He’s done everything he thought would help. Speaking with nearby artists, calling around to any art galleries who may be looking for new pieces to add. Hell, even posting some shit on craigslist. Yeah, he’s dropped that low. There’s nothing more that can be done. And he pats Niall on the back as they walk into the Gallery. Because he’s going to enjoy these next couple hours before he has to go home and do what will probably suck him into the gates of hell and burn him alive. 

Because he’s calling his fucking dad tonight.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis' dad is a prick, it turns out to be the least of his worries.

It’s the most repulsive admission, the worst possible end to this scenario and as the time approaches closer and closer, his skin is crawling. He really, really doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to speak to his father, doesn’t even want to hear the sound of his voice, let alone actually ask him for money. Or help, or anything. He’s essentially crawling back on his knees, all the way up his father’s pristine stone steps and hanging his head in defeat. Because of all the times Louis was told, “This won’t work, you need a true job, you’re going to regret this decision.” He never thought it would be the truth. Everything apart from the regret, of course. 

Is he exaggerating? No, absolutely not.

Knowing it's his only saving grace is making Louis want to take a long walk off of a short pier. Maybe take a relaxing bath in hydrochloric acid, perhaps. Taking a screw and sliding it up underneath his fingernails and popping them off individually. One by one. All of that, sounds considerably, _monumentally_ better than dialing his father’s number and knowing he’s looking at his phone with the smirk of someone who knew they were right. All fucking smug and it makes Louis sick, positively sick. Maybe if he had been blessed with parents that actually supported their children (what a crazy thought?) instead of a dad whose never impressed and a mother who has jello for a spine. 

Either way he’s screwed and he can’t image how much worst this could get. 

Niall looks miserable sauntering over to the same sculpture he’s been vulture-circling for an hour now. But what can Louis say? Of fucking course he’s going to procrastinate this shit as much as he possibly can. Squeezing out every blessed minute before he has to go home and hope the exquisite lavender decorations are enough to keep him from popping a blood vessel during this phone call. He’s been religiously checking his email and hoping any one has sent him a message about a prospective business enquiry, but it’s nothing but spam and Bath and Body Works coupons. 

Go fuck yourself, Bath and Body Works. 

“Louis, as much fun as I’m having, I can’t help but wonder how much longer I can look at the same things for over four hours now, it getting a bit redundant.” 

“Stare at each piece and try to tell a story using the imagery.” Louis shrugs, taking a seat on the wooden bench and re-checking his email. There’s the same messages that that were there when he checked two seconds ago. Son of a _bitch._

“You told me that an hour ago. Louis, let’s get something to eat, I’ll pay.” Niall’s essentially begging now, and he has this uncanny resemblance of a child whose mother’s been at the grocery store a bit too long. Louis’ a bit scared he’s going to throw a temper tantrum here soon and he’s too damn big to be making a scene in an art Gallery, so dinner it is. 

“Sure, sure, sure.” Louis nods, “Where were you thinking?”

“Anywhere but here.” Niall says under his breath, which earns an eyebrow raise from Louis that he seems to brush off without a second thought. “Let’s just hit up that cafe that’s a few blocks from your place? You like that one right? Said something about rich ambiance or some shit.”

“Not shit Niall, it’s an observation, you should learn to be more involved with the environment around you.” Louis explains, looking off into the distance and ignoring the annoyed blue eyes that are dead set on Louis’ face. It is nice, you just get certain feels from each place and some feel better than others. That pretty cafe makes him feel warm and was the inspiration behind the cappuccino theme he went through a few months back. 

“Remind me again, why t’hell are we friends?” 

“Because you love me and my step brother helps you with your math homework, so you have to hangout with me. Plus, don’t act like you don’t enjoy my presence, I’m a pleasure to have.” 

“What an elated ego you’ve got there.”

“What an eloquently annoying voice you’ve got there.” Louis fires back, scrunching his nose in Niall’s direction. “I’m just trying to be confident and it’s not hard when you’re as dapper as I, my dear friend.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Niall turns away, walking towards the door without looking back. He really is ready to get the hell out of here and Louis’ pretty sure he’s trying his best not to fully sprint out the door. He just doesn’t appreciate art. 

Louis’ right on his heels, trying to match his strides with (unfortunately) short legs, though they’re still equipped with a pair of thighs that he’s more than proud to showcase in skinny jeans on a regular basis. In fact, Louis is just petite by nature, and that’s okay because he’s never been super insecure about it. Until someone thinks calling him ‘tiny’ is funny. Which is just stupid, in his honest opinion. Standing in front of a mirror and scrutinizing every little thing about your appearance, like the color of your eyes or the size of your nose, is just proper useless. And it’s substantially easier to appreciate your own unique beauty when you’ve acknowledged it’s there in the first place. 

Finding the buried and hidden beauty in every thing has always been something Louis has loved to do. It’s a shame that the world is so easily looked over. And how you can walk past a tree and not see the way the sun filters through the leaves and is complimented by the rough hickory brown of the bark. Or the natural symmetry of the flowers lining the pavement, the soft mixture of colors that seem to be painted in pastel shades, all at the hand of something more magnificent than he’ll ever understand. It’s impressive, and it’s all so minuscule that if you’re not paying attention, you could miss it completely. That goes for people as well. Too much time is spent hating specific things, when there is so much to appreciate. 

Like the girl in his psychology class who hated her small lips, but didn’t see the way her cheekbones lined her face and shaded her skin in just the right places. Or when he hears someone with brown eyes say it’s a dull color, that they hate it. But upon closer inspection, they’d see the compilation of creamy caramel and chocolate embers that are peppered into each inch of their iris’. Igniting the esteem in a person brings out that ability to see without a veil of what beauty is supposed to be, and what’s aesthetically pleasing to you may not be what the articles in your magazine say. And that’s okay.

Niall is walking in step with Louis, pairing the sound of soles hitting the concrete in accidental synchronization. The night sky is cloaked over London and everything sleeps protectively underneath. The moon is casting a path and it’s unobscured shine is free to flow without the city lights trying in unnecessary competition. 

“The truck is parked over here, public transportation isn’t my thing, too much waiting.”

“Patience is a virtue.” Louis smiles, at least a tad bit happier that he doesn’t have to wait for the tube. 

He misses it, having a car. Being able to sit alone and drive, without worrying about anything but the road in front of you. He never really understood how good he had it until he didn’t have it anymore, and so to speak, he misses it so fucking much. Being dependent isn’t really Louis’ thing, he likes to have this control over his decisions, his life, what happens next. Which is odd, considering the position he’s in now. He wanted to be independent and maybe shove a successful career down his father’s throat, watching as it forces him to eat his words. It makes his mouth dry out and his teeth clench knowing that wasn’t a possibility. And after tonight, any success Louis has will be partially because of the help he received from daddy-dearest.

He’s so fucking aggravated. 

Hoping the gentle and soft aroma of the cafe will help, Louis climbs (yes, climbs) into Niall’s too-fucking-big truck. Honestly, there is no need for a truck this huge, but Niall had to have it and it makes Louis feel like he’s going on an adventure just getting in the stupid thing. Maybe Niall liked the sound of the engine, or the paint color, or the height from the ground. Or maybe he’s over-compensating. Whatever. 

He looks pleased as a peach with Louis’ annoyed huff and stern grip on the seat as he struggles to pull himself up. Okay, he’s not gifted with a nice amount of upper body strength. Or any upper body strength, for that matter. But he’s an artist and they don’t have to heavy-lift, so it’s excusable. But it still doesn’t stop Niall from chortling like a damn child when Louis gives up. “I can’t get in the fucking thing.”

“Y’need a step stool, maybe a ladder?”

“I need you to shut up before I take my foot and shove it right down your fucking throat.” Louis sasses, trying once more to haul himself into the death trap Niall fonds over for no apparent reason. He hates this thing. Fucking hates it. 

"You gotta reach my mouth first though, don’tcha?”

Louis has to fight, mentally hold himself back from taking his shoe off and flinging into Niall’s stupid smiling face. He couldn’t care less about the short jokes, but he could use a bit of help here and Niall throwing his head back in a fit of laughter is doing absolutely nothing for the cause. 

He hates this truck.

With a valiant effort, and maybe the gods are tired of watching Louis struggle, he’s able to finally hoist himself up, immediately smacking a hard hand to Niall’s shoulder. Which just earns more laughter. He’s a child, literally a child. The truck thunders to life, obnoxiously loud and grabbing the attention of everyone within a one mile radius, he’s sure. It’s painted bright red and screams rickety, but it gets them where they need to go, so Louis is neutral. He wants to cringe at the fact that he can’t even hear himself think, and he is silently sending his condolences to Niall’s old (and quiet) car that had to be replaced with a hunk of metal that screeches whenever they come to a stop. 

May you rest in peace. 

Niall’s talking, Louis can tell by the way his lips are moving, but he can’t hear a damn word he’s saying. Not feeling the desire to shout over the engine, he just nods along and hopes this isn’t some heartfelt story while he breathes out a generous laugh. Niall laughs in return, so it’s a safe bet. It doesn’t take them long to get to the cafe, but Louis wants to enjoy all the scenery around while he can. London is such a beautiful city, with it's low casting lights and quaint stores huddled between crowds of people. It looks even prettier at night, when the atmosphere is calming from the previous chatter and voices that once filled the space die down to a faint memory. 

The sun has rested for the day, handing over the baton to the moon. Each cobblestone road is empty and winding, leading way through green trees and expanding fields. It’s the less industrial side of the city, though Louis wouldn’t call it abundantly nature-filled either. But still a beautiful sight nonetheless. 

The tiny cafe comes into view within minutes, and it’s a tug of war between his emotions. He loves this place, loves the wide array of teas and coffee and pastries they offer. But it’s also a sign that he’s closer to home. Closer to that inevitable phone call. Suddenly his phone is heavy in his pocket, weighing and burning against his thigh. There’s always been this mask Louis could so easily slip on, a face that says, “I’m better off without you,” but he’s going to be removing that safety net and going in completely bare. Crumbling into confession as he comes forth and says the words his father has been waiting to hear. The words he knew he’d hear. 

“You alright?” Niall asks, causing Louis to jump, not even noticing that he turned the truck off and was waiting to go in. 

Louis lets a smile spread over his face, washing away any worry that may have been present in his features. He may be eating himself alive over his eventual torture, but no one needed to know that. He hates when people pity him. As much as he wants to believe, to tell himself he is, he’s not “alright.” Far from it actually. Louis’ not even sure if Niall knows just how much Louis hates his dad, how much his dad hates him. Either way, it’s not something he’s going to bring up, especially not when he’s trying to enjoy the night out and relieve his mind of the plans he’ll endure later. 

“Yeah, I’m just fucking starving, my stomach is eating itself.”

Niall nods in complete understanding, he’s always hungry and Louis' about a hundred percent sure that Niall has three stomachs and he’s never really full. But it’s quite comical to watch the small blonde boy gulp down a four course meal with room for a dessert and still have enough energy to play an entire game of footie. Louis can’t help but see just the tiniest flash of worry in Niall’s eyes, and he knows that his excuse was weak and embarrassingly transparent, but Louis just clears his throat, opening the door to this incredibly over-sized truck.

He basically falls out of the damn thing, feeling a blunt pain in the arches of his feet as his soles hit the harsh pavement. The air is a bit cooler than usual, and it almost hurts to breathe in it, filling his lungs and exhaling slowly, taking his lower lip between his teeth. His phone still feels like it weighs a ton in his pocket, and his mind refuses to wander in the least bit, and he’s panicking, he can just tell. Louis’ standing in a solitude of a rapid heartbeat and and whirling head. How does he phrase his sentences? How does he make himself seem less pathetic than he truly is? The cool air isn’t enough to drain the heat from his cheeks, and he feels suffocated though he’s standing in the wide open. 

It just cruelly distressing, it shouldn’t feel this way, he shouldn’t dread talking to his father. It’s normal right? Normal to ask your parents for help when your compromised. But, this is also the same man who looked at a young Louis, no older than ten, and telling him that he was stupid, _ignorant,_ for wanting to pursue art, and not something in the business field. Hell, he was only ten years old for fucks sake, and that pressure was there, already. That young. It took a huge heart and a brave stance to ignore the constant remarks against his desires, but he did it. He dealt with all the ridicule and grew up to cover himself, shield himself, with a thick skin and an even thicker skull.

But, look where that’s gotten him. He’s royally fucked. 

Niall’s hooking his index in the loops of his jeans, dragging them up, because he wholly refuses to buy a belt. He’s ridiculous, but he’s also the best friend Louis has always wanted. One that joked with him and supported him, which was something he just wasn’t quite used to. “Starved, yeah? Hopefully a croissant will fill you up, they don’t really serve much more than that here.”

“I enjoy a croissant.” Louis shrugs, walking past Niall and pulling the door open. The smell is almost orgasmic, and he can’t help but flutter his eyes closed and letting the aroma of warm bread and coffee grounds engulf him. French vanilla, mocha, hazelnut, more than Louis can even pinpoint. 

“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach, that’s why this place fills you up, like an appetizer for me, if that.” Niall scoffs, immediately walking to the glass case and eyeing the variety of pastries. A buffet would suit him better, but Louis can admit he’s more than scared he wouldn’t be able to drag Niall away before he cleaned the place out. 

Ignoring the comment (and silently agreeing, but not eating much for the past few weeks shrinks your stomach considerably) he heads up to the counter, with pursed lips scanning over the menu, finally deciding on a bagel and macchiato. “You can get everything in the case if you so desire, but not all of us eat like a cow.” 

“Rude.” 

“Truthful.” Louis shoots back, fighting back a small smile at the offense on Niall’s face. 

Louis gives himself one more hour before he has to go home and make the call. Only sixty more minutes left before the worst moment of his fucking life. Three thousand, six hundred seconds before Louis admits he couldn’t do this by himself. He’s failed. This night is going to end with a bang, how exciting. 

 

****

 

He’s nearly full and ready for a nap by the time he’s walking up to his door. With each step closer his heart is beating quicker and his breathing can’t seem to keep up. Louis had successfully ignored Niall’s pleads the entire way home, begging to know what was going on and why he seemed so “off.” Talking about his problems sounded like the worst possible thing to do. He didn’t even want to think about how this would go, let alone talk about it. The air is whipping around, and it feels angry, impatient, like the time ticking by is mocking the situation. He really should’ve started selling cocaine or something on the side of the fucking road, maybe get involved in the black market. 

He has an ass for a male stripper, but he also has morals, so. 

With a deep breath and a click of the turning key, he’s pushing open the door of his flat. The one he can no longer afford and his self confidence is taking a bit of a hit. It does really suck to know that he’s pretty much helpless, and the worst part is, he’s gotten himself into this mess. But art has always been so much more to Louis, he see’s it as something to be surrounded in, and he wasn’t going to be happy unless he was. Career and all. Fucking excuse him for wanting to be happy with his life. But, content was about as far as possible from what he’s feeling right now.

He couldn’t care less if he’s disappointed his father, but he’s disappointed himself. That’s what he can’t seem to accept. 

Each and every candle throughout is lit, in hopes that the comforting scent will be enough to help defuse him just a little. The flickering of each flame is the only thing providing light, and it’s almost eerie and unsettling, but that could just be Louis’ nerves. The shadows are dancing off the walls, the warm glow doing nothing for the drum of Louis’ heart, hammering harshly against his ribcage. With no more time to procrastinate, he pulls his phone out, biting his cheek at how it's searing like a hot coal in his palm. He doesn’t want to do this, but he’s got no other choice. A short debate takes place in his mind, begging him to launch the phone right at the wall with a valiant, “Fuck you dad, I’ll find a way.” But the loss of his flat and being thrown into the negatives in his bank account are pulling him harder. 

So he scrolls to his father’s name and presses the little phone icon, crashing his teeth together with enough force to give him a headache. When the answer comes, it’s not a greeting. “Louis, I was expecting your call.”

Pretentious fuck wad. “And why is that?” Louis responds, keeping his tone cool and relaxed. The interior of his body is shaking and so are his hands. 

“I spoke to Liam earlier today, he told me you.. weren’t doing very well.” The sentence carries no trace of worry, but a matter-of-fact tone. 

Louis stays silent, Liam is an asshole. He decides that he’s going to light a bag of shit on his doorstep. He knows for a fact that Liam will be over in just a few hours to profusely apologize, as always, for talking to their father about Louis’ problems, so he might push him down the stairs instead. He’s not sure yet. 

“Can’t say that I was surprised, Louis. I told you this-“

“Yeah, I got that. Skip the ‘I told you so,’ bullshit, I already know.” Louis spits, trying to keep the acid in his voice at a low level. If he has too much of an attitude, he can kiss any hopes of getting help goodbye. 

There’s a deep breath coming from the other end of the line, and he’s sure his father can taste the venom in his words. “I understand that you need help, is that correct?”

“I’ve been eating bread for dinner for the past week, what do you think?” 

“Louis.” His father warns, and Louis can almost see the frown on his face, “Do you need the help or not?”

“Yes.” Louis sighs, rolling his eyes. 

There’s another silence, and with each second Louis’ stomach starts twisting and turning. He just wanted to hear Louis say it, to hear the admission come from his mouth after he had insisted that he could make this work. It really just hurts to say. 

“When I spoke to Liam he gave me a good idea. So I’ve arranged for you to have a flat mate. Someone who will split the rent with you. I’ll pay this months rent so you aren’t evicted, but you’ll have to get a real job and make it yourself, this will give you some financial relief.” 

“You know how much I hate it when you say ‘real job,’ when I do have a job. Just because it doesn’t involve sitting in a cubicle all day long doesn’t mean it’s not real.” Louis replies, feeling the anger bubbling and he feels like a child again. He feels the way his eyes drop to the floor and his cheek is almost raw from how hard he’s chewing on it. He feels guilty, like he shouldn’t be doing what he’s doing. He hates the way his father makes him feel. 

“Right, because drawing flowers is a job, right?” 

“I don’t draw, I paint. And I paint flowers because I love it, I like the colors and the shapes and the natural curves. There’s a meaning behind everything I paint. Not that you would understand. Try and learn about it in a textbook.” The ferocity is burning in his veins and it’s painful to keep everything bottled up, so it’s starting to spill over the edges. His phrases are overflowing with a hidden anger thats become more and more apparent with each syllable. For some reason Louis knows that his dad is sitting in his desk chair, face neutral and uncaring, tapping his foot to a beat that’s not there. 

“How’s that working for you?” His dad asks and it’s most definitely a rhetorical question. Because Louis knows, he knows that it’s not working out and his father is right, always has been right. 

“Whose the flat mate?” Louis swerves the question, starting to pick at his nails, something he’s always done when he’s gotten aggravated. 

“You’ll find out soon enough. The child of one of my co-workers, makes a substantial amount and is just moving out, so the opportunity was perfect. Don’t go and screw it up, I know you’re good at that. One of your only talents.” Stated as a fact rather than an opinion, it still hits Louis like a bullet. 

“I could’ve found a flat mate, you’re not doing anything I couldn’t do for myself.” Louis argues, knowing it’s not true. He doesn’t want a flat mate. He doesn’t want to deal with anyone else and he definitely doesn’t want to have to live around them. Louis likes to wake up when he wants, walk around purely nude when he wants, redecorate whenever he wants. What he doesn’t want, is dealing with company, people he doesn’t know, cleaning up their messes and censoring himself. He doesn’t want a flat mate. He would’ve found a flaw in every applicant and that would be the end of that. 

“I have to go, I have to get up early for work, hopefully this works out for you, I’m not giving you any handouts.” He says, before the line goes dead and the call is effectively ended. 

It leaves a ton of unanswered questions. He doesn’t know who the hell is going to be moving in. Did his father do a background check, what if they’re a murderer? What if they’re crazy? It’s all very concerning and he isn’t even sure when he can expect his mystery guest to show up. It could be as early as tomorrow morning and it could be in a week or more. Does his father even know the extent of his crisis? Apparently, he didn’t very much care to discuss it, and it makes Louis frantic. 

So he starts slipping off his clothes as he walks to the bedroom. His lavender robe is ripped off the hook and thrown over his body, shoving his hands into the cottony sleeves with a huff and a poked out bottom lip. He’s pouting, he’s really pouting like a toddler and it’s pretty comical. Refusing to turn on any lights, he crawls into bed and slams face first into the pillow, kicking his toes on the cushion of the mattress. The conversation wasn’t as bad as Louis had expected, but it was still enough to drain him mentally and now his mind has no plans of slowing anytime soon. He’s never really been the best at calming his thoughts, always overthinking and overanalyzing, though you’d never be able to tell by the expression on his face. 

He can’t help but marinade in the anger, feeling the disapproval course through his rigid body and think of how this is nothing new. Every single fucking time he speaks to his father he feels this way, and it makes no sense. Because how could his father be so spiteful at the way Louis wants to live? He saw it coming, the snide comments that were said without an ounce of shame. Because Louis’ dad doesn’t like him, hasn’t liked him for a long time, and he makes it clear. That’s why it makes Louis laugh whenever Liam says, “He’s your dad, he loves you.” It’s utter bullshit. Louis doesn’t like paperwork, or being confined in an office. He isn’t good with money and he focuses too much on the way certain things make him feel. He doesn’t fit into his family, he always stands out and it’s not a good thing. He became the black sheep early on, but it didn’t matter because Louis always had art.

He painted when he was mad, when he was crying or when he was confused. He watched the way the paint brush ran over the page and how each emotion filled the trails. Soon enough the emotion would be drained from his body and was soaked into the picture instead. His favorite thing to paint was flowers. Mostly because they were so unique and held so much beauty. The way the tint would change when it was getting closer to the tip of the petal. It was odd, yes, to pour your feelings into a painting of a flower, but it worked. It worked every single time. Anger turned into tiger lilies, sadness turned into hydrangeas, confusion turned into peonies. 

So he grew up, his mind was dead set and nothing would ever change it. Nothing made him happier than his art did, and that’s what he focused on. Despite the lectures coming from his family on how idiotic it was. How idiotic he was. 

Here is where he ended up. Twenty four years old, spiraling into debt and unable to afford a meal on a daily basis. Pretending for months that he was doing just fine, when he knew that things were heading downhill super quickly. Having to admit to his father than he couldn’t save himself this time. And now, he’s going to have a flat mate, one that he doesn’t even know.

Which reminds him.

He needed to layout some rules. No one can say anything about the color of the flat, because color plays an important role in his life and he would simply lose his cool if he wasn’t able to put up decorations that match his theme. They can’t say anything about the fact that he does this at least once a week (of course he’d leave their bedroom alone, but everywhere else is fair game.) The new addition can’t be bringing home people all hours of the night and he will _not_ condone parties. When Louis is painting, they can’t make stupid comments and jokes and actually, they can’t say anything that’s negative, because it will throw off his entire vibe.

Louis is just a tad picky. 

But after living alone for such an extended period of time, he just grew accustomed to it. He had friends over but took relief in the fact that they would be leaving and as soon as they did he could kick his shoes off and run a hot bubble bath without any judgement. He could hangout on the couch and laugh loudly at stupid jokes and not worry about if someone was listening and getting annoyed. He’d always really preferred to be alone, to live alone. He didn’t know if that had anything to do with the fact that he grew up alone. A prisoner of his own mind and the bars would finally cease when he could get his hands on a canvas. 

The silence of the flat is defending and his thoughts are starting to drive him mad. He half considers calling Liam, asking him why the fuck he felt the need to call and tell their father how pathetic Louis is. He could’ve done that all by himself, thanks. 

It’s a sweltering bath instead, because he honestly doesn’t feel like another argument right now. And he’ll end up forgiving Liam anyway, like always. Before he can make it into the bathroom, making an awkward observation at how he really needs to trim his gruesome toenails, there’s a slight knock on the door. It’s hit in a rhythm, something Liam is notorious for. Louis tilts his head in a smile, thinking to himself but saying aloud, “Wow, who knew I could predict the future. I’m good.” 

His bare feet pad onto the hardwood floor, stomping loudly enough to make the flames on each candle falter as he walks by. He purposefully slides on the sassiest expression he can possibly muster, putting a hand on his hip before flinging the door open. 

It’s not Liam, it’s _definitely_ not Liam. In fact, Louis doesn’t know who the fuck it is. He’s tall, lanky and a smirk is plastered on cherry rose pink lips. A messy array of brown curls and spirals are pushed to the top of his head, resembling a quick roll out of bed and the inability to use a brush, if he even knows what a brush is. The sloppy style doesn’t end there, continuing to black jeans that cover never-ending legs (he’s so fucking tall) and a charcoal shirt that has seen better days, tiny holes peppered along the bottom hem. The entire ensemble is complete with a worn out leather jacket, which is just so nifty. 

He smells like burnt rubber, smoke and diluted alcohol. He smells like danger and bad decisions. 

His eyes are an electric green and they’re doing an amazing job at burrowing into Louis’ soul, dropping to his body then immediately being switched into pure confusion. “Are you wearing a purple bathrobe?”

Really? Really.

The sound of his voice is almost startling, deeper than Louis ever imagined it would be even with his rough demeanor. It’s smooth and raspy at the same time, each word dictated slow and curiously. But, Louis is more offended than anything at the moment, and he can’t stop his lips from pulling into an obvious scowl.

“It’s lavender.” He scrunches his nose up, shaking his head, “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” The boy says, soaked in humor, his eye brows shooting up. His vision flickers momentarily to the room behind Louis, earning a deeper smirk, “You really like lavender, huh?” 

“Who are you?” Louis ignores his question, removing his hand from his hip to cross his arms over his chest. He looks defensive, which is exactly what he’s going for. 

“Okay, so we’re skipping the small talk, I see.” The boy raises his hands in defense, his eyes mockingly cautious, before he can continue, Louis’ eyes catch the strap that’s slung over his boney shoulder, and it’s connected to a backpack that stuffed so tightly it’s barely zipped. The realization hits almost instantaneously. Oh, fuck no. 

“If I made an assumption and said you were here as the new flat mate, how right would I be?”

“Ding,” He smiles, pointing up towards the sky, “We have a winner.” 

When Louis opens his mouth to speak, well, object, he is interrupted by the boy pushing past him, straight into the flat. Louis stops with his mouth wide open, eyes not blinking as he turns on his heel, “Woah, excuse me?” His voice raises in pitch, highlighting his surprise with the brash actions. 

“Why do you have eight candles lit? You doing a seance or some shit?” The boy asks, completely ignoring Louis’ stunned remark. He’s so rude and entitled, and who just shoves their way into someone else’s home? Well, this is technically his home too, but that’s not an excuse to not have any manners. 

“No, and the polite thing to do would be to wait for me to invite you in, you know?” 

Without missing a beat, he responds easily, “Actually, it’s cold as fuck out there right now, and the polite thing to do would be to invite me in from the cold instead of trying to have a conversation with me while I slowly catch pneumonia, you know?” 

Louis wants to come back with even more sass, but instead he huffs outs a breathy laugh, in disbelief at the audacity coming from this complete stranger. He’s debating asking where the rest of his luggage is, but Louis' almost positive it's hidden in his dimple, the one on his cheek that seems to be deeper than the Atlantic ocean. It’s an easy admission that whoever the boy is, he’s attractive. It’s undeniable, really, but trouble is pouring off of him in waves and Louis doesn’t like the way it feels. His every movement is fluid and unthought and he’s wearing a now-visible gold watch on his left wrist. 

A watch that costs more than Louis' entire life, probably, and yet his shirt’s got holes in it. He’s an equation that doesn’t add up and everything about him is setting off alarms in Louis' head. 

“So, you like candles and pretty colors, aren’t you the cutest?” He inquires, dropping the bag to his feet to survey the room, picking up the nearest candle and reading the label, he doesn’t look over when he asks, “What’s your name? Or shall I refer to you as boy-in-the-lavender-bathrobe?” 

Both questions seem to take Louis off guard, and he’s half embarrassed and half pleased, but then he remembers that he is, indeed, only wearing a bathrobe. One that’s a bit too short for anyone to be seen in and is quite fluffy, but his entire body is on fire at the realization that it’s the only thing he’s wearing. And it’s pretty obvious considering the strewn out path of clothes that are leading to his room. Standing right in front of a random person, insecurity weasels it’s way up. And without thinking Louis' crossing his legs, swaying back and forth under his stare. This whole situation is just dandy and is just the perfect way to end an already fucked up night. Great. Bless. Now he’s feeling shy. 

“It’s Louis.” He states, simply, pulling the robe closed even tighter, “Your turn.” 

“Louis, I like that name. It suits you.” 

“I’m waiting.” Louis reminds him, blinking twice, trying to keep a neural and carefree expression. 

The boys lips pull into another smirk and Louis wonders if he always smiles like that. The dimple in his right cheek is on full display, looking more prominent in the candlelit room, falling over his skin and deepening the shadow, “It’s Harry.” 

It’s Harry. 

“That’s royal.” 

“So I hear.” Harry states, taking a step closer to Louis, not showing a bit of hesitation, so sure of himself. But Louis takes a wide step back, blinking and letting a faux friendly smile spread over his face, “Nice to meet you, I appreciate personal space, you should too.” 

The comment only makes Harry smile wider, “Right. Well,” The way Harry’s eyes seem so focused, observant, Louis’ sure he can make just about anyone melt. The charm is there, but, unfortunately, it's not working right now, “May I ask where my room is?” 

Louis points to the door next to his. He watches as Harry picks up his bag, shaking the curls from his eyes as he leans down. He really is too tall for his own good and his legs resemble Bambi slightly, and Louis has to hold back a laugh at the thought. He hasn’t had anytime to prepare for a new flat mate, and it’s quite clear in the way clothes are littering the floor and food wrappers are still sat atop the tables in the living room and kitchen. Harry doesn’t seem to mind as he readjusts the strap on his shoulder, giving Louis a slight wave as he walks towards the room that's now his new bedroom. Because he’s going to live here. Lovely. 

“Wait, I have more questions, how do I know you won’t kill me in my sleep?” Louis asks, a bit too panicked, which earns a deep laugh, the sound reverberates through the entire flat, richer than all the candles combined. 

“You can interrogate me in the morning, and as for the second question then,” Harry shrugs, “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” He doesn’t wait for Louis’ answer before he walks into the dark room out of sight. “Goodnight, Louis.” And that’s the last thing he hears before the door is clicked shut.

And he’s left standing there in a cloud of confusion and curiosity. Because now he’s officially sharing a flat with a boy who is surely an enigma, one who looks wobbly and persistent and it’s as scary as it is enticing.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, now this is awkward.

The first night is absolute shit, Louis sleeps like absolute shit. Because he swears he can hear Harry unpacking and banging around in there, a slight mumbling every now and again. And it shouldn’t keep him up, but it evidently does. Which is just precious. He’s still laying in bed and choosing to ignore the clock on his nightstand that undoubtably reads somewhere after four in the fucking morning. And Harry is still awake. With the amazing luck Louis is blessed with, Harry is apparently nocturnal. Like a bat, but a lot less quiet.

Harry is boisterous bat.

It may be in combination with the aggravation and nerves, but every time he’s on the brink of falling asleep, he jolts back awake and not only is it incredibly annoying, but it’s also very tiresome. The sheets don’t seem to be helping the matter in the least bit, and they’re almost suffocating at this point. Hot and heavy and not even the ceiling fan can cool him down. So, he’s flicking off the comforter, then feeling vulnerable and sliding it back on. Then getting hot and flinging it off again. It’s like this all hours of the night and the sun is starting to paint the sky in a faint blue. He’s most likely going to be a walking zombie tomorrow. He really needs to welcome himself into the lovely job market, and going in for an application while looking half-dead usually isn’t the best way to go about it. 

The room is filled with the tempo of the fan’s motor, the blades catching the air and making a whooshing sound. That, and the ugly sound of his teeth grinding together, his eye lids drooping but not allowing him to succumb. It’s akin to torture, and maybe not getting any sleep is how Louis dies. Hard boots on the floor, then a slight slam and another mumble. Why the mother fuck is he still walking around in there? Is he having some sort of one-person home warming party? Whatever it is that he’s doing, he needs to stop and get his curly headed ass in the bed before Louis beats his door down and tosses him (and his lack of manners) right out the bloody window. 

He gets a bit cranky when he’s sleep deprived, obviously. 

His eyes have already adjusted, and with the help from the morning sun, the room is no longer dark. In fact, it’s a bit too bright for Louis’ taste. He likes to sleep like he’s in a cave, pitch black, unable to see a hand that’s two inches from his face. He can probably credit that to the fact that his parents never allowed any light in his room after bedtime when he was younger. They complained he would stay awake all night and draw on his walls, on his arms, on his nails. And yes, maybe he painted his nails but it was just a few times because the colors were so pretty, how could he not? Then his mother found all her missing nail paint bottles lodged under his bed and almost chucked them at Louis’ head. 

After that, it was no night-light allowed. Purely dark, an abyss, really. It was terrifying at first. Because he swears on his grave that there were things moving around in that room. And the lamps looked like silhouettes of people and they all had odd faces. The negatives of being artistic, is having an overly active imagination. The first night he slept in the black of his room, he imagined people walking back and forth just past the foot of his bed, it scared him shitless and his parents couldn’t bother to care. Because yeah, they no longer cleaned the walls or had to search high and low for stolen polish; but their five year old son dreaded going to bed because it was horrific. They didn’t care. What’s new. 

But, ironic enough, Louis loves the dark now. Can’t sleep if there’s any light whatsoever. 

So, the sun is consequently ending any hopes of sleeping tonight. And there’s another thump from the next room over, and Louis has officially had enough. He flings his legs over the edge of the bed with a dramatic huff, his hair surely sticking up in all directions. He most likely looks like he’s just stuck his finger in a light socket, but he can’t bother to give a single fuck. The floor is freezing beneath the pads of his feet, sending a steam of cold chills up his legs and to the tips of his fingers. The room is frigid without the heat of the blanket, so he pulls it from the bed and wraps it around his shoulders. Which, actually, does a nice job of covering his brief-clad body quite nicely.

He looks like an angry penguin, and feels like it too with the way he’s waddling, the blanket wrapping him like a cocoon. 

His brows are nit down, making the frustration more than apparent and he opens his bedroom door, well he really kind of throws it open and feels like a child throwing a temper tantrum in the process. But he’s tired and running on less than enough energy to deal with his annoying flatmate, and he’s still not sure why the fuck this guy is up so late. He _better_ not do this every night, or Louis will pack his shit and sleep in a box on the side of the road, he likes his rest. 

Louis’ standing in front of Harry's door, and for some reason the nerves are back but they’re completely covered and overpowered by frustration. The light is peaking out from the crack between the floor and the door, lighting up Louis’ feet, and he forgot to trim those gruesome toenails. He makes a mental note, again, as he picks his feet up, taking a bit of a closer examination, before putting them back down quietly. When the bedroom door flies open, Louis’ stomach drops out of his ass, jumping back at the speed of lighting, the thud of his heart too fucking loud in his ears. The light is bright and almost blinding at first, though it’s just a dull glow from a single lamp, he has to blink until his eyes finally adjust. 

Harry is standing there, looking wide awake and exactly the same as he did when he first walked in. Only his the whites of his eyes are shaded red and he looks so confused it’s comical. “Louis, what a surprise for you to come visit me. Can I help you?” 

“Yes, actually,” Louis starts, and is a bit thrown off by the hoarse raspiness of his own voice, “Can you quiet down in there? I haven’t been able to sleep all night, you keep banging around and wreaking havoc, it’s distracting.” 

Harry’s brows shoot up immediately, blinking twice before responding, “What the fuck are you on about? I haven’t made any noise.” 

“Hah!” Louis laughs, and it comes across as fake as he planned it to, “That’s hilarious.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything, just leans his head onto the frame of the door, his hand sliding down to rest on the handle. It takes a few moments of sassy stares and an ever sassier head tilt from Louis before he finally says anything. “Be honest here, did you just make up an excuse to talk to me?”

What the fuck?

“Are you _kidding_ me? Why the hell would I do that? I hear you walking around, some annoying thudding, and it sounds like you’re talking to yourself. So, after however many god forsaken hours of trying desperately to fall asleep, I gave up and came to tell you to quiet the fuck down.” Louis snaps, even more agitated by Harry’s outward confidence and he wants to kick him in the shin. Fuck wad. 

“Ah, I see.” Harry purses his lips, nodding a few times, “Your hair looks cute right now, you just get electrocuted or something? Is that why you’re so grumpy?” 

Louis’ mouth opens with a pop, and Harry’s looking directly at him, blinking innocently, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. It’s not enough to bring out that crater-dimple, but big enough to see. “I want to push you out that window, that’s how _grumpy_ I am.”

“We’re only on the first floor,” He hides a laugh, and Louis’ body ignites in so much irritation it’s making his fists clench, “So, go for it.” 

“You little-“ Louis begins, words coming out from behind clenched teeth, interrupted before he can even finish his insult. Harry’s voice comes out in more of a coo, teasing and playful, “You little what?”

His mind is pulling a blank, and he’s sorting for something, anything, to say but suddenly his brain decides it’s now that it wants to stop working. Harry’s looking at him expectantly like the ass he is, and Louis’ just standing there with his mouth open, empty words lingering on the tip of his tongue. It’s embarrassing to say the least, and getting tongue-tied is not something that’s common for Louis. He’s so quick at coming back with harsher words than needed in the moment, but now, it’s like he’s stuck. Harry seems less than bothered, face relaxed in a neutral and patient expression. The lamp behind him makes his outline sharp, every curve on his body exaggerated. Louis can make out every individual hair on his head, the way his shirt is twisted with his torso, and the way the hem sits just atop his hip. 

When his eyes connect with Harry’s they’re colored with humor, even lighter green than before and that damn dimple is popping out again, “Were you just checking me out?” 

“No,” Louis shoots, taking a step back, shaking his head quicker than necessary. He wasn’t checking him out, but contrast is always interesting, and Harry just so happens to have enough curves to study. But he was _not_ checking him out. Absolutely not. 

“Sure, sure.” Harry says easily, running his tongue over his bottom lip, “Whatever you say, Louis.” 

It takes a full deep breath until Louis can muster up the next sentence. He’s worn out, tired, and there’s no sense in standing here and arguing with Harry when, clearly, he will always have the last word. Louis gets the feeling he has siblings, for some reason. “There’s no hope for tonight, but when tomorrow night comes, will you please go to bed instead of staying up all night and keeping me up while you do it? It would be greatly appreciated.”

“Anything for you, doll.” Harry smiles, more joking than polite before he turns to close the door. Just before it shuts, there’s a glimpse of his left arm. There’s black ink absolutely covering it, in so many designs he couldn’t hope to make out just one before Harry’s out of sight completely. He didn’t even notice the leather jacket was removed, probably because he was too distracted with Harry’s ‘I think I’m funny, when I’m actually not’ comments. 

Louis’ never liked needles anywhere near him. Avoids shots at all costs. Piercings and tattoos make his knees weak, and as much as he’d like to deny it, he has a very low pain tolerance. Even the thought of a needle penetrating the top layer of someone’s skin, injecting dark ink permanently, leaving a forever mark, it makes him shudder. Yes, tattoos are beautiful, they’re another form of art, but they’re the most terrifying form of art. He’s not sure why the image surprised him, as Harry definitely looks like he’d be one to care less about the pain of a tattoo, it’s more interesting than anything. 

What could Harry possibly have that he likes so much he wanted it permanently attached to his skin? Are they meaningful? Are they funny? Do they tell a story or are they just randomly peppered along? Are they all over his body? Just his arm? Ribcage tattoos are actually really attractive. 

Before he can think into it any more, he’s coming to realize that he’s still standing in front of Harry’s door like an absolute creep. So, he slides his feet away, heading straight for the kitchen to turn the coffee pot on. There’s really no reason to try and go back to sleep, especially when it’s inevitable that he’ll surely be up for good after the sun has officially risen. Maybe the smell of coffee grounds will put him in a better mood. It’s not the first all-nighter he’s pulled and it definitely won’t be the last, so there’s no sense in sulking around and dreading the day ahead. So, he pours the water, the pot is bubbling and Louis’ plopping down on the couch. His day will just have to start at a crisp five in the morning, how dandy. 

A positive from this whole thing, is getting to watch the sunrise. The sky is a mixture of fuchsia, orange and purple, a light blue near the top. It’s like water color, each shade meshing with the one right next to it perfectly, flawlessly, naturally. It’s stunning, something else Louis could never hope to capture. It’s the entire sky, and it’s cloaking everything, it knows how beautiful it is. It’ll only be a matter of time before the blue is overtaking the other colors and replacing them, leaving them to come back another day. If the sky could always look the way it does when the sun sets and rises, everyone would just get accustomed to it. It seems that when things come in small duration, we appreciate them more. It’s funny how that works.

The flat is misted in silence and the only light is the natural rays. It’s serene and calm, it’s perfect. 

The smell of hazelnut blend coffee is floating through the air, but Louis can’t seem to break away and make him a cup. He just wants to sit. Sit and take in the scene, memorize it. Remember the way it makes him feel, the way his mind is slowing down and he’s no longer aggravated. Remember everything he's seeing, repainting the image in his head to make an exact copy. His fingertips feel numb, his lashes flitting against the skin of his cheeks whenever he blinks. It has to be the most tranquil he’s felt in a long time, and this is exactly the feeling he was going for when he chose lavender to decorate his flat with. He wanted to feel this peace, he wanted to be able to dissolve himself from the world and almost melt away with the breeze. He just wanted to get away. 

This fuchsia is a pretty color, this will be his next color. 

When the hues diffuse into a soft blue, Louis finally decides to saunter over to the coffee pot. The light in Harry’s room has finally gone off, and he’s probably going to be sleeping until five this afternoon, but whatever. He has no milk or sugar, so he has to drink it black and with barely any food at all in his stomach, he’s going to be bouncing off the walls and riding a caffeine high in no time. Either way, he needs to go to the grocery and pick up some food or he’s going to stave Harry, and himself, to death, so he pulls out a piece of paper, starting a shopping list. With the other member of his two-dude squad sleeping, he’s free to walk around in just his briefs and let his skin breathe, even if it is a bit chilly in here. The blanket cocoon was starting to get a bit hot and his limbs were too constricted to be comfortable. 

Having absolutely no idea what Harry likes to eat, he just begins with the essentials; bread, milk, eggs, sugar, and cheese. Cheese? Everyone likes cheese, right? 

The coffee is bitter but at the same time it tastes like tears of the divine. He can feel the effects of exhaustion wearing on his body already, his head starting to ache. And he’s a bit of a baby, but he’s not usually one to be up all night, especially after a day like yesterday. The liquid burns against his lips, the steam pouring over his face, making his entire body warm. Hopefully it’ll wake him up sooner versus later. Because according to the fine advice of his genius father, he needs to find a job, he’s not giving Louis any more help. Or as he so lovingly worded it, ‘no more handouts.’ 

Louis doesn’t want his handouts anyway, no thanks. 

Something part time will do, just enough to help Harry out with the rent, and still giving him enough time to still paint abundantly on the side. The determination of anyone ever discovering him and seeing any talent is dwindling with each day that passes, but giving up isn’t something he’s ever planning to do. If it means he has to get a job doing something he hates to push himself along in the meantime, then it is what it is. Maybe he’ll get lucky and actually like his job, like working in an art gallery, or giving tours in a museum, because art is his life so he’d be well qualified. Of course, he’s self taught in almost every aspect, so it’s not something he can brag about on a resume, that’s what happens when college was something that was put permanently on a back burner. He’s still kicking himself over that. 

The mug is empty, just a tiny amount of coffee left in the bottom, but that just won’t do, so he pours another cup, knowing he’ll regret it later. If job hunting is on the to-do list today, then he better start looking for an appropriate outfit. Something professional and toned down, something that says “hire me.” 

He tries to keep his steps quiet and almost inaudible as he walks past Harry’s door, basically tiptoeing and holding his breath as he does so. He’s reaches a safe zone when he’s in his room, shutting the door and cringing when it clicks. Everything sounds so much louder when the flat is void of any sounds, and waking up Harry is the last thing he wants to do at this point. His closet is packed full of clothes (and getting rid of some might be a good idea, but no.) and it might take a while to pick out something he’s sure he’ll love. Jeans come across as a bit too casual, and dress pants are trying too hard. But there’s a pair of khaki skinny jeans that should work just fine. Maybe paired with a button down, a light blue if possible. 

His lips purse automatically as he feels through the fabrics, trying to find a cottony textured article. It takes a good five minutes before he comes across one that he thinks will look okay, and pulls the hanger out with it. The outfit will go perfectly with his brown shoes, and once he’s pleased with his choices it's time to drown himself in the steam of a hot shower. Maybe it’ll even wake him up a little more. 

The hot water feels more than amazing on his skin, loosening it up from the stress of yesterday. Louis lets his head fall back, eyes closed as the he breathes the mist in through his nose, releasing it from between his lips. He stays like that for a while, letting his mind stop and his body do what comes natural, just breathing. Breathing until every single inch of him is unwound and composed. Droplets are building, tracing the crevices and then falling off his skin like rain. Water pools mainly in the dip of his collarbones, filling then spilling out. It’s strange to think that water can be in tiny beads, and then be what makes up the roaring waves of ocean. It’s calm and placid, and at the same time its colossal and unfathomable. It’s magnificent. 

But he’s wasting time.

After the quick washing process (and maybe he used too much body wash because he likes the tingling of the bubbles) he’s finally getting out, dripping water and possibly sweat. Padding the towel to soak up the water, rubbing on some lavender scented lotion then throwing on a pair of briefs, his morning process is almost complete. Because he doesn’t feel like getting dressed right this second, just _one_ more cup of coffee doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea, so he lets the stream pour out of the bathroom while he makes a beeline for the kitchen. The coffee has been sitting for a bit and it’s probably even stronger, but no matter, he’s still feeling kind of tired and this is the nectar that will solve his problem, or so he hopes. 

The entire flat is bright and awake and lovely, still silent. The mug is only about halfway full before he can hear his voice start dancing from his throat, humming some absurd song that he can’t even pinpoint. 

It takes about three sips before he recognizes the tune, and it’s ‘Don’t fear the Reaper’ as random as it may be, but he’s feeling chipper right about now so he just bobs along to the music playing in his head. About ten minutes later the two previous cups have hit and he's floating on a caffeine buzz, walking around the flat using his (now) empty mug as a microphone, because who the fuck cares, it’s beautiful outside and his head is swimming in a hazelnut induced haze. He’s not the best singer, his pitch is all over the place and he’s sure that if he tried hard enough he could rupture someone’s ear drum, he’s got talent like that. 

“Then the door was open and the wind appeared, the candles blew and then disappeared..” Louis sang, smile causing his cheeks to hurt and this third cup was not a good idea. It’s a combination of two shitty nights of no sleep and too much damn caffeine but he’s on cloud nine and he’s kind of having a blast. It hit him out of nowhere and will probably disappear just as quickly, so might as well enjoy it while it lasts. 

“..The curtains flew and then he appeared, saying don’t be afraid..” 

“Are you singing Blue Oyster Cult right now?” A deep voice croaked, causing Louis to fling his mug, sending it crashing to the floor and erupting into shards. He’s going to have a heart attack he’s sure of it, and his eyes are so wide they just might pop right out of his head, because Harry’s standing there, full view, brow cocked and laughing his ass off. Where the hell did he even come from, did he just teleport his way here? 

“Do you ever fucking sleep?” Louis screeched, the shock making his voice a full octave higher than normal, his hand placed over his heart, feeling the heavy thud. “And did you just float in here or what? I didn’t even hear your footsteps.”

Harry’s laughing so hard tears are pricking at his eyes, bent over in hysterics, the sound bounces off the walls. His mug is in a hundred pieces all over the floor, and his heart is cracked in half, one side sinking completely. He loved that mug-slash-microphone. He got it on vacation, it even said his name. It takes more than a full sixty seconds before Harry is composed enough to finally speak, wiping the wet from his cheeks with the back of his hand. The tattooed arm is in full display, and it’s surely covered, barely any skin showing through the designs. He’s inked in even the most painful of places, the underpart of his arm, just under his bicep, that must’ve hurt like a bitch. It looks like a realistic heart, and it’s drawn quite beautifully. 

Harry stares for one brief moment, “Come on, baby, and she had no fear.” He sings, his smile so wide its obscuring the words. The shattered glass at his feet doesn't seem to detour his mood, at all. 

“I hate you.” Louis squints, trying not to pout while he searches for the broom. Harry just laughs again, making it a point to lean against the wall on his shoulder, folding his arms across his chest. 

“By the way, I do sleep. But why would I? Especially when I have a view like this.” 

“What view?” Louis asks, whipping his head around. He catches Harry’s eyes, doing a slow and sure scan of Louis from head to toe, his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyelashes are fanned across tanned cheeks, hair messily falling across his forehead. He looks focused and intrigued. And then the air felt cold. Because it’s everywhere. Because Louis' only wearing briefs. Why the fuck is he always getting caught wearing the most inappropriate articles of clothing he owns? 

His face blooms a bight red, heat flooding and trailing over the bridge of his nose, pooling on both of his cheeks. His hands shoot to his body, trying to cover any skin that he possibly can. Harry lets out a breathy laugh from between parted lips, bringing his eyes to meet directly with Louis’ in one sharp movement. Why the hell is his breathing so labored? Oh, right, because he’s about to die of embarrassment. His stare is so deep and concentrated, but so light and easy, controlled. Harry holds the eye contact without hesitation, jade green burning like it’s ignited, he blinks once before cocking his head slightly to the side, “You’re shy, very cute.” 

Is he joking? 

Every single inch of Louis’ skin is tingling and shaky, his eyes fluttering beyond his control, he can feel that his face is crimson by now, but he can’t care, because he’s too busy trying to get his feet to take him to his bedroom, but he’s cemented under Harry’s eyes. Still connected and there’s a tension between them, so strong that it’s making his mind fuzzy. He has no idea why Harry has him locked in place with just his eyes, but its so piecing, protract. Harry’s lips are pulled into the tiniest smile, because he can tell he has Louis pinned, like it comes so easily to him. He’s not even trying. 

“I- uh, I’m-“ Louis stutters, and his voice reflects exactly what his body is feeling, it reveals him completely. He’s nervous. How _embarrassing._ Harry's blinking slowly, allowing some momentary relief from the intent, fiery green. It feels like minutes have passed and Louis still can’t move. 

Just like it was as casual as possible, Harry looks away, taking the intensity with his gaze. He walks over to the coffee pot, opening up cabinets to most likely find a mug, like nothing ever happened. Something in Louis’ head screams at him 'that shouldn’t have happened,' and Harry was seeing if he had some kind of control over the situation. And he definitely did. It couldn’t have been more obvious, which is a little intimidating. With the entrapment evaporated, suddenly Louis’ feet have remembered how to walk. He immediately heads to the room, taking a deep breath and hoping his face will drain, because it’s too damn hot right this second. When the door shuts, he leans back against it, feeling the wood cool on the bare skin of his back. He can feel every insecurity pull at the corners of his brain, and now he feels too exposed, especially to someone he has to live with from now until who knows when. The burning in his face and ears refuses to constrain, so he stands there a while, not moving, the sound of Harry humming echoes through the flat behind him. 

What the fuck just happened? 

 

****

 

“So, I presume it’s not going well, then?” Niall asks, sipping up a strawberry banana smoothie though his straw. He’s been listening to Louis complain for over an hour now, all about how much he already hates having a flatmate. Once he finally calmed enough, he jerked on his clothes and made a run for the front door, not bothering to see if Harry was still in sight before he slammed it behind him and left. Then he called Niall, because he’s obviously shaken up and Niall has this way of getting your mind off things sometimes. So they’ve stopped for a smoothie, which Louis can’t bear to drink right now, and Niall has gulped it down in a matter of seconds. 

“No, I don’t like it.” 

“Is he an asshole or something?” 

“I mean,” Louis shakes his head, “No, I don’t think so. I mean, he’s kind of entitled and cocky, like he knows what effect he has, I don’t know if that makes any sense.” And he doesn’t really know Harry, not at all. He's not sure why Harry is getting under his skin, it’s like he’s out to get on Louis’ last nerve, and who knows, maybe Harry never wanted a flatmate either. They’ll make a terrible team. 

Niall nods along, biting his cheek between his teeth. He seems to think over Louis’ answer before responding. “Well, it’ll get better, you just have to get to know each other first, it’s always awkward in the beginning, give it a chance.” 

Louis knows he’s right, it’s only the first morning, and Harry’s already almost seen him completely naked, so there’s that. He’s never been quite so flustered, and plenty of men have seen him in next to nothing. But Harry’s coming off as someone who knows what he does to people, and Louis hoped he wouldn’t fall victim for that, but apparently he’s not immune. Either way, it was one time, and it was because Louis isn’t used to other people being around, but it will never happen again. There doesn’t need to be any awkward moments that could compromise the flatmate relationship they’ll have to form. Which means being fully dressed all hours of the day, or at least when he’s not in the privacy of his own room, or the shower, of course. 

Niall doesn’t seem to mind Louis being deep in thought, more focused on the empty smoothie cup and he looks pretty disgruntled about it. 

He joins Louis to apply at every place within walking distance from his flat. Including some cafes, some markets, retail stores and even a petrol station. So far everyone has seemed polite and interested in Louis getting a prospective job there, and he’s hoping one of them will call him sooner versus later for an interview. He’s not looking forward to the break from his art but he is looking forward to a steady source of income, which is exactly what he needs right now. With the rent being cut in half, it should be more than affordable with around twenty five hours a week, which isn’t bad at all. And he refuses to say this flatmate thing was a good idea, but it is a little helpful. He still needs to call Liam and bitch him out. He definitely has not forgotten about his betrayal, and the burning shit bag is still a bold possibility. 

The job at a museum or gallery still sounds amazing, but he’d have to take the tube everyday there and back, and he needs to focus more on convenience than interest. It sucks, it really does, but it’s life. 

“I have no doubt you’ll be getting a job soon, mate, you’re very good with people, even though ya hate them, really.” Niall assures him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder for a quick side-hug. It’s as awkward as it is comforting. Niall can sense when Louis is tense or thinking too much into something, and intervening is just what Louis needs. Sometimes Louis’ own mind has the capability to drive him mad. 

“Thanks, that’s what ‘M hoping for.” 

Those three cups of coffee are starting to hit full devastating effect right about now, and his hands are shaking, he can barely hold his cell without almost dropping it. That’s the last time he purposefully tries to overdose on caffeine, everything about that decision was wrong, and he’s whole heartedly regretting it. He’s honestly looking forward to going home and crashing, hopefully he’ll be dead asleep in a matter of seconds and avoid the “can we not talk about what happened earlier” conversation. 

People are jostling and laughing all around them, lost in their own worlds and enjoying the weather while they can. It’ll be only a matter of time before the day feels like the night, freezing and uncomfortable. Louis hates being cold, unless he’s sleeping, then he likes the air to be almost frigid while he lies underneath thick blankets. It almost feels protective and disconnected. The thought of sleeping makes him yawn almost instantly, because he’s shaky from the coffee but he’s also starting to feel tired again. The effects never really last long, one minute you’re singing with a coffee mug then the next your wanting to pass out on the concrete and take a full nap. It’s all very annoying and it’s only because he didn’t get any fucking sleep last night. (cough, Harry, cough.)

“You still gonna paint, Lou?” Niall asks, his accent strong and snapping Louis from his mind.

“Course I am, I just need a steady source of income to keep my flat, y’know? I can’t just rely on my paintings, it’s just not working out for me.”

“The talent is there, for sure, but I agree, backup plan never hurt ya, plus you might actually like it.” Niall has always been so supportive, he has a painting of Louis’ hung up in his house, the one he painted for Niall’s birthday. He claims that it makes him look more ‘cultured’ and it makes Louis laugh every time. 

With the applications knocked out, Louis only had one more thing he wanted to do before heading back to the flat. He half debates asking Niall to tag along, but he’s sure that Niall would rather walk into traffic and they’d been out for a few hours now so he’s probably bored anyway. He walks Niall back to the truck, thankful that he’s not going to have to try and climb into that thing when he’s already missing most of his energy. Louis want’s to go pick out the new fuchsia decorations for the flat, and the shop he normally goes to is only about a twenty minute walk and he could use some time to be alone and stop thinking about everything. He’s just going to focus on this color and the pretty things he can use to bring the theme to life. 

When Niall leaves, Louis can hear his truck for another mile before the engine is muffled by the chatter of lively people. He’s been coming to this shop since he’s moved into his flat, and the cashier knows him by name, it’s like another home. One that always empties his wallet but makes his heart heavy, so. His pace is steady the whole way there, and the more time that’s put between now and this morning, the easier it is to ignore it all together, though the task is still daunting. Walking through the small glass door is like crossing over into a different world. 

Of course, the variety is wide and it brings a grin to Louis’ face in no time at all.

He could spend thousands in this store, easily. It’s all full of different things. Dish sets, curtains, candles, pictures, frames, flowers, laundry baskets, waste bins. Even has a full section for lotions and body washes. It’s like Bed Bath and Beyond on steroids, is the best way to describe it. He falls more and more in love every time he comes, so he wastes no time selecting a cart and strolling the isles. He can already tell he’s going to love the way this lights up the flat, and the feel it’ll put off. Maybe it’ll change Harry’s mood and he’ll suddenly be polite and unproblematic. But colors are interpretations not miracle workers, so he doesn’t dwell on the thought for more than a mere second. And even then it’s a mere second too long. 

As he picks up items from the shelves, watching the cart fill up and pushing the guilt to the back of his mind, he tries to forget everything that happened this morning. He tries to forget the burning he felt and he’s trying to pretend like he wasn’t actually intrigued by the way he reacted. Because still, what the fuck was that all about? Anyway, he really doesn’t have the money for this, but happiness carries no price tag, so it’s whatever. Plus, he’s got some financial help now, so he doesn’t need to stress so much, right? That’s most likely a lie he’s telling himself so that he’ll feel better about the whole situation, but to each their own. 

He’s always catching himself wondering why he feels the desire to constantly rearrange his flat based on the color he likes best that week, but he just does. And at first it was simple, it was changing up the towels and hand soaps in the bathroom. Then it extended to getting new bedsheets and curtains. And before he knew it, his entire flat was decorated, each individual room laced and covered in the pretty color and it was overwhelming. It was the most amazing feeling, his escape. When he was stressed, it seemed to dissolve the moment he walked through his front door. He plans to do this till the day he dies, because life is bland and black and white if you don’t allow yourself to feel the way each shade carries a different ambiance. 

He never makes a list of the colors he plans to use, because they always come on a whim. He could be walking home and, boom, inspiration. Or he could be on the tube, in the grocery store (which is very rare, granted.) He could even be relaxing on his back deck with a cup of tea and it’ll hit from nowhere. 

Well, he hopes that Harry likes fuchsia, because it’s going to be very prevalent for just a while.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis has issues, and Leonardo DiCaprio gives Niall life.

Louis doesn’t even want to comment on the sheer amount of purely overblown decorations he’s scooped up and is now struggling to carry through the threshold of his flat. He _might_ have just gone a touch overboard with this particular theme, but no matter, he’s going to make it work and it shall be especially eloquent. He’s actually pretty confident in the fact that this color will be his new obsession, and he’s even gotten a stylish and chic phone case to match, because he absolutely had to. It was there, essentially screaming his name as he walked by and how could he possibly say no? And Louis might have absolutely no self control when it comes to his personal indulgence, but anyway. 

It’s quite possibly going to take an impressive and bustling few hours to get all these up before he needs a cup of tea and maybe a power nap. He’s got pretty much everything he could get his grimy little hands on, with no shame whatsoever as he proudly strolled out of the store with a brilliant glow and his expression matching the bright fuchsia in his cart, probably. Without a second thought he’s heaving the bags (that are much too full and could plausibly burst open at any moment now) onto the counter tops and then running out of space, using the kitchen table as well. Before he’s registered the magnitude of his quantity, the whole kitchen is filled with bags and _no_ he doesn’t regret a single purchase. He’s used up most of his ‘flat-decoration’ savings account, and unabashedly, at that. 

In the moment, he’s pretty aware that the flat is missing a particular tenant, a curly one with an annoying tendency to get under Louis’ skin without even trying. Oh, darn.

On that note, he’s pulling out his cell, not at all surprised that no notifications are brimming on the screen, and making way to the dock to plug in the auxiliary cord. Song after song, album after album, are passed by with a quick swipe of his thumb, searching high and low for the perfect tune to fill the flat with. He wants the musical notes to dance, to bounce off the walls and shuffle along the floorboards, he want’s to hear only the lyrics and no thoughts, disconnect and lose himself in the feel, in the vivd ambiance. The most important part of this whole experience is making sure that its thoroughly enjoyable and not at all tedious or forced. It should flow with the easiness of an immaculate and unstirred creek, time shouldn’t be a concept, minutes melting into one another. He avoids any music that’s just too uppity or maybe too slow and depressing, finally deciding on a classic ‘House of the Rising Sun,’ by The Animals, figuring that it will be superb for the task at hand. 

So, he’s got quite the impressive list. A new rubbage bin, new curtains, new dish sets, new hand soaps, bath towels, a shower curtain, a new toothbrush. Adding also; a new bed set, bathrobe, slippers, lotions, door mats, decorative pillows, lampshades, potted plants, picture frames, even a new loofa. 

His most abundant? Candles, so, so many candles. They’re all of similar color (of course) but they come in a few different scents. There is one that smells of dragonfruit and makes his insides giddy and another that’s labelled “daydreams” but actually just smells like roses and a mere hint of cherry blossom. He may or may not have a candle obsession, but it’s not like it’s hurting anyone and if he wants his flat to smell like a fruit garden then he will, anyhoo. 

As lavender accessories are removed, getting a well deserved appreciation, and the new color is taking it’s place, Louis can’t help but wonder what the hell Harry will think. He’s well aware that this isn’t considered normal -he hates that word- behavior, and not everyone is so perceptive in understanding his motives behind the constant change of scenery. But Harry will just have to deal with it, because Louis was here first. And truthfully, this is what keeps Louis sane and if he isn’t able to redecorate when he so desires he might just explode and Harry will likely be right in the range of shrapnel, so he’s just thinking ahead and being responsible. Right. 

Which for some reason causes his brain to shift just a bit to another topic at hand, which includes a nosey step brother who he still is very much upset with, actually. Not only that Liam decided he was going to take matters into his own precious, manicured hands, but the fact that he hasn’t even called to discuss the whole matter with Louis. Who, surprise, is right in the middle of this and if Liam want’s to play wrecking ball with his life then he should probably check and see what type of destruction he’s left behind. Liam almost always comes directly to Louis’ house after he says something to their dad that he knows he shouldn’t have, and the course is like clockwork; Liam will apologize, Louis will be mad, Liam won’t cease and then Louis will give in. It happens just like that, every single time. Except for now, when Liam has offically overstepped his boundaries and maybe he’s scared of Louis’ wrath, which is probably smart. Louis’ still pissed. 

And the funny thing is, Liam has always had it pretty easy. Well, of course dealing with the divorce of his parents was difficult but he said he was only around four years old at the time and remembers jack shit about the whole process. Then, his mum married Louis’ father and everything fell into place, they were the happiest of families. Well, apart from a specific fringe-haired, paint covered, and wide eyed kid. 

Louis was just different. His father hated it. Hated that Louis’ teachers would send home notes about how poorly he was doing in class, ignoring the praise from his art teacher because it wasn’t an ‘academic’ class, so it didn’t matter. He would scream at Louis until he was red in the face, resembling a beat, asking why Louis didn’t bother to put forth any effort into his oh-so-important education. And Louis didn’t fail for lack of trying, he failed for lack of _understanding._ The words just didn’t connect in his head, and the semantics just weren’t there. He really couldn’t care less about photosynthesis, or trigonometry, or the way the plates in the earth collie and form volcanoes. 

But, Liam was the apple of (step) daddy’s eye. He was the golden child and got to hold all the bragging rights. He was smart, he had his head in the right place, he wanted to be just like their dad. And Liam is actually two years younger than Louis, which made the whole situation more embarrassing. Because not only was he incomparable to his baby brother, he wasn’t as smart as him, either. Louis grew up feeling like he was in the constant shadow of someone who was even shorter than he was, yet towered him in every aspect of the word. It was splendid. 

It makes no difference anymore, and Louis just needs to come to terms with the present day, not lingering on the past long enough to drive him mad. 

On a different, and happier, note, the flat is starting to come together. He's just got the bathroom left and it will be good to go. He’s pulling the rings from the lavender shower curtain, folding it into the closet. His mind is brining back unwelcome memories, he’s now thinking about this morning (always thinking), about the embarrassment that seemed to drench his body, leaving him standing in a puddle of chagrin, reminiscing in the destitution of his own self confidence. That was such a fun time, really, he just wants to relive it again and again. And maybe he’s so bitter about his lack of control that it makes his body so tense that he’s going to keep thinking about it until it finally becomes too much and he has no choice but confrontation. He’s desperately hoping it won’t come to that. 

His mind is flip flopping around, lingering on Liam, then lingering on the events of the early morning, and wasn’t this supposed to be a calming experience? 

He’s redirecting his mind, away from Liam and away from Harry and those penetrating eyes. Now, it’s time to do a walk through of the flat, and hope that his annoyed thoughts aren’t enough to taint the way he feels or this whole thing will be a disaster. The color isn’t as relaxing as he had originally thought when he saw it mixed into the sunrise, but makes up for it by exuding this kind of controlled energy into the air. It’s not strong and it’s not overly weak, either, just perfectly right in the middle of it all. He actually loves it a lot, and the smile on his face his starting to make his cheeks hurt. The decorative pillows look in-place, and it’s times like this he’s glad he purchased an all white couch, with the way it’s been versatile with all his ever-changing themes, despite his inner monologue telling him that was the furthest thing from a good idea. He really needs to stop doubting himself, instinct doesn’t get the credit it deserves. 

For some reason, Louis knows that this flat will always be perceived as feminine by other people, but to him, colors aren’t gender specific. You can be a brawny man who lifts logs and downs a draft beer in a millisecond, but if you want to wear pink then you should wear pink without hesitation. And it’s just that simple. 

A color is what you see when an object reflects or emits light, it doesn’t say ‘this is for girls, and this is for boys.’ No, it’s just not the way it should work. And really, any way that you see color is because of the way the world around you sees that color. So don’t _see_ it, but rather _feel_ it. And Louis is the king of cheesy thoughts. Oh well, it makes sense in his head.

But, if he must so say himself, this entire flat is looking pretty damn amazing, and everything matches and it feel’s right in his bones, standing in the middle of his living room with folded arms, smiling. It feels like vigor, life. It feels like effervescence and serenity all at the same time. And if harmonious vitalities were all rolled up in a single bundle it would be this particular flat. _Satisfied_ is an understatement, he is _dignified._

Then he hears the handle jiggling and suddenly all good things must come to an end. 

Harry always enters when he’s least expecting him to, and right now he just needed to meander in the soft energy and perhaps bathe in his own self glory. Fucking Harry. 

His boots hit with loud thunks, heavy soles on unscathed hardwood floors and Louis’ cringing. He’s still wearing that tattered leather jacket, still with those black pants that are surely cutting off his circulation. And maybe that’s why he stumbles around, because he can’t feel his legs, (interesting.) His shirt is frayed with a lightened, and almost unreadable, ACDC logo and Louis’ blessed that Harry at least has good taste in music. Of course, his definable curls are sloppily laying in a nest on his head and this boy is getting a brush for Christmas in his stocking. Louis’ never seen someone with such a blatant disregard for their own physical appearance yet have so much confidence that he’s basically soaked in conceit so heavily it’s dripping off of his skin. He’s doing a great job at stumping Louis’ automatic judgement. 

“Well, look who decided to come home,” Harry smiles, and the sight is undoubtably pretty but it’s the teasing undertones that are digging at Louis’ inner peace. “Couldn’t avoid me forever, then?” 

“I wan’t trying to avoid you.” Louis lies, he’s never been a good liar and the way Harry’s smile widens he’s very aware of that precise fact. He’s so aggravating. 

“You ran out of the flat so fast, that you were a little blur of hair and terror, what was that all about? Not even a goodbye? Rude.” Harry fake-pouts, poking his lower lip out with what’s presumably an attempt at puppy dog eyes.

“I had somewhere to be.” 

“Right, okay. I see you’ve been quite busy today, got tired of purple, going for pink instead, I get it.” Harry glances around the flat, oblivious to the hard and unfaltering glare Louis has currently resting on his face. 

“It was _lavender,_ and this is called _fuchsia_.” Louis bites back, it comes off harsher than he expected it to, but Harry just blinks at him, brows nit in a ‘is that supposed to be common knowledge?’ type of way. 

The conversation is momentarily muted, Harry shrugging off his jacket as he walks into the kitchen, his boots still thumping loudly and it’s starting to echo in the confines of Louis’ mind. It’s only when Harry starts opening the cabinets, that Louis remembers he still hasn’t gone to the grocery, it’s just a little embarrassing. Harry looks fully offended at the fact that there is no food present, a real frown set on his face when he looks back up at Louis, who has successfully averted his eyes to his lap, where he’s playing idly with his fingers. 

“What have you been eating? This place is cleaned out.” 

“I eat out.” Louis shrugs, and it seems that earns a repressed laugh from Harry, and Louis can’t help the deadpan expression that’s fallen onto his face. “Don’t tell me, you’re one of those twenty-something year olds with the sense of humor akin to a middle schooler, is that right?” 

“Actually, I don’t turn twenty until February, so.” Harry replies easily, moving to the fridge. Louis’ in a slight shock, Harry looks much older than nineteen years old, and that’s putting a five year age difference between them, it almost feels like Louis is babysitting him, _almost._

“Sorry, I don’t really know much about you.” Louis shrugs, trying to hide the surprise in his voice. It’s just that Harry does _not_ look like he’s that young, and at the same time, now that he’s said it, he kind of.. does? It’s odd. “I have half a mind to interrogate you a bit, take you up on that offer from last night.”

“Ask me anything you want, just don’t be too invasive.” Harry says, his voice completely serious but his eyes are holding humor like a vice. He’s got half a pickle hanging from his mouth that’s muffling his words a bit. 

“Okay,” Louis thinks, sauntering over to the rest his elbows on the kitchen counter, opposite side of Harry. “What’s your last name? Are you going to university? Do you have any siblings?” -Louis’ sure he does by means of Harry’s argumentative tendencies- “Why did you decide to move out and into a flat with someone you barely know?”

Harry’s eyes widen just for a second, then wiping his face into complete neutrality, “Styles, and no, I’m not. I have a one sister, and because I was tired of living at home, my parents are bores.” He answers without missing a beat, fighting off a slight smile, “Do I get to ask you things, too?”

Louis sturdies his posture, sitting straight up, a small squint in his eyes as he prepares, “Go for it.” 

“Why do you like to decorate your flat with random colors?” Harry asks, and no, Louis was not expecting that. He was expecting similar questions to his own, the starter ones that give off the necessary facts, but Harry just goes straight to the personality aspect, because _of course_ he does. 

“Uh,” Louis blinks, running his tongue over the surface of his teeth, “I like the way they make me feel.” 

“How does p-“ Harry coughs, “I mean fuchsia, how does fuchsia make you feel?” He looks equal parts humored and curious, leaning over the counter with pickle-laced breath and now Louis’ craving a pickle. 

“It’s hard to explain, I mean- like, a calm energy? It was in the sunrise this morning, I just liked it.” Louis half explains, opting not to go too deep into it, because Harry would most likely get bored, and that’s never a good way to start an interrogation. 

“So, you just put all this stuff up because you liked it when you saw it in a sunrise?”

“I don’t need your judgement, and I do it quite often, so you should probably get used to it.” Louis replies, cocking his head to the side, “Any other questions?” He’s tired of people thinking this whole concept is only surface deep, when it’s so much more to him, but Harry doesn’t understand that yet. 

“Yeah,” Harry pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “Answer your own questions; last name, university or no, siblings, why you wanted a flatmate when it’s obvious you couldn't care less about the company of people.” Louis can hear the toe of Harry’s boot tapping on the tile in the kitchen, and he’s trying to hold eye contact, resisting the urge to look down and study the ink that’s swirled onto Harry’s skin, he’s still one hundred percent intrigued by those tattoos. 

“Tomlinson, no, and I have one step brother. I don’t want a flatmate but my father got me one to help with the bills and rent.” Louis answers, trying to make the end story sound less pathetic that it really is. He honestly doesn’t want to say ‘I’m broke and this was my only option after I was on the verge of eviction.’ 

“Your dad?” Harry says, his voice coated in confusion, “When I was told about the flat, my dad said his co-worker didn’t mention a name or relation. Just figured he had heard about it through the vine.” Harry trails off, and it hurts to hear, really. He’s used to it, but it still hurts just as much. His father was embarrassed by the fact that Louis is his son, so embarrassed that he didn’t even mention it, avoided it, more like. 

It comes as no surprise, his dad has never really been one to brag about Louis in the slightest and has tried to forget he’s even around on several occasions. Harry must’ve picked up on the mood shift, changing the subject before Louis has a chance to reply. His tone is light and airy, joking, as usual, “How old are you?” 

“Twenty four, kid.” Louis smiles, choosing not to dwell on the thought of his father, he hates him just as much. “So, I’m your senior-“

“That doesn’t make you the boss,” Harry holds up his index, that ever present smirk still lingering on the corners of his lips, “So don’t even think about it. And, I’m not a kid, I was a legal adult almost two years ago.”

“You almost made an ass eating joke earlier today, that seems pretty childish to me.” Louis shrugs, watching Harry’s smile deepen even more. Why the fuck? 

“I didn’t say ‘ass’ eating specifically, but.” Harry presses his lips together, and shit, Louis forgot Harry has no idea who he is, or his sexuality, which he’s just bluntly admitted to. It was an accident, really, but all Louis’ friends know so it’s not like he tries to hide it, usually. Eh, he was going to find out sooner or later, right? Might as well get it on the table and get it out of the way. “Your preferences match mine, that’s nice to know.” Harry slides in, nonchalantly. 

And the sentence makes Louis burst into a fit of laughter, which Harry was _not_ expecting, because this is all so perfect. His father has never known his sexuality, oblivious to the fact that, yes, Louis likes dick, (oops). He was probably inept on making sure that Louis’ new flatmate wasn’t a female, as to prevent any more distractions. Which made it so much funnier, because he’s gay, and his flatmate likes men, too. Hah. Not at all implying there’s any sexual attraction, he’s not admitting to anything thanks, but it’s just the sheer thought that his father was trying to be sneaky and failed miserably. So, fuck your logic, dad. 

“I need to go grocery shopping,” Louis comments, moving from his place by the counter, “you’re welcome to join, if you please.” He offers, halting in place, waiting for Harry’s answer.

“As much as I’d love to go to the grocery store, I’ll have to decline, I do have other plans I am sadly obliged to attend.” He says, light as air, running a hand though that disarray of chestnut brown, “But here,” He’s pulling a brown leather wallet, sliding the plastic card across the counter, “You can put it on me, since you’ve already spent so much on making our home so _pretty_.”

And just like that, the conversation is over, Harry slipping on his jacket. Louis doesn’t know how to say thank you, but he doesn’t get the chance before the door is closed and Harry’s gone, quick as that. Well. He really just gave Louis his credit card and then left. Who the actual fuck is Harry Styles? 

This gives him a quick moment in time to just try and comprehend the situation before him. Firstly, to make it absolutely clear, Louis does not -repeat- _not_ want flatmate. He appreciates privacy in the highest and most precise form of the word and Harry, though not intrusive, is just always _there_ and Louis’ simply not used to that. He’s not used to that at all. He’s not used to the witty comebacks, or the ‘I’m flirting, kind of, sort of, but in this innocent way that yields the belief I do this all the time.’ And Harry is just so fucking confident. The way he holds himself, is like he’s not really going for that persona but it sheaths him anyway. It’s almost like Harry gets his distinct charisma from something other than his physical appearance, though his presentation is, well, nicely assembled. Louis just shrugs, he’s known the kid for a day, he’s not going to try and dissect his personality, well, not yet, for that matter. 

And there’s really no reason to hate this whole flatmate thing, other than he’s a prisoner to his clothing and misses his nude galavants, but he _really_ misses having this place all to himself, and maybe he just doesn’t know Harry enough yet. He’s still not a hundred percent sure about that.

Either way, Louis is procrastinating this trip to the grocery like it’s his oblivion (he hates shopping when it doesn’t involve fine home furnishings, he’s not sorry) it’s always so cold in there, and he’s not feeling that right this second. But, alas, it shall be the inevitable trip and he’s doing nothing but wasting time. Plus, he’s got Harry’s card, so he can see the bright future of eating cereal that doesn’t taste like cardboard, and fruit that’s actually crisp and doesn’t squash under your touch after being seized from the discount section, yes they have those, and Louis frequents them. It’s bound to feel nice coming home with more than one bag of sustainable goods that he won’t have to prolong for weeks at a time, he’s going to eat like an average person instead of a mouse, and it’s a lovely thought. Thank you, Harry, you’re just a peach. 

And going to the grocery makes him feel very _adult_ which is nice for a few hours, so he does a quick stretch, quite dramatically, before tucking away the card and heading towards the door, ready to procure an abundant amount of precious cuisines. Exciting. 

 

 

*****

 

“Uh, yeah, I’m not so sure about that, maybe just the basics?” Niall vocally shrugs, being absolutely no help at all, thanks. Louis’ already got the most basics of food, and not at all knowing what else to get. He doesn’t know what Harry likes to eat, and since he _is_ paying, it’s only nice to make sure the load is in his favor. Louis’ just thoughtful like that. 

“I mean, what would you like to eat? I need ideas.” 

“I eat everything, I can’t even believe you asked me that, Louis, d’you know me at all?” 

“Fuck,” Louis’ standing right there in the middle of the junk food isle, holding a box of cupcakes in one hand and Oreo’s in the other, his phone pressed tightly between his cheek and shoulder. “He’s pretty fit, don’t know if he eats any junk food, maybe he’s one of those health people, you know, like counts their calories and shit?” 

He’s not sure what got him in this position, so confused on what to buy that he’s actually called Niall in a desperate plea of help. And maybe it looks less embarrassing to be contemplating everything you put in your cart when you’re on the phone, it’s quite possibly a mixture of both. “Get a little of both, mate. Get some of those indulgent, guilt foods and then some apples or something, he like bananas?” 

“I don’t fucking know, Niall, how am I supposed to know if he likes bananas? He’s only eaten a pickle since I’ve known him.” Louis responds, exasperated, he’s been here for an hour already and he’s not making much leeway at all. He needs to get Harry’s phone number, that way all this could be avoided and Harry could’ve just texted him a list or something. Louis gives up, throwing both things in the cart and strolling on to the fruits, hoping a wide variety will be the answer to all his problems. 

“Hey! Lose the sass, Tomlinson, I’m doing a service, you know I was right in the middle of a movie when you called me?” Niall asks, his voice hurt but as long as Louis’ known him, its not even a little bit sincere. 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, my good friend, it’s time to sacrifice a good cinema for the people who need you, Niall.” Louis replies, sounding wholly dramatic, a bit over the top, but Niall laughs on the other line. He can’t just simply giggle, he always laughs like a thundering chortle, sometimes over the stupidest things. 

Louis listens to the sound of laughter with a quirked eyebrow, picking up a few apples, pears, avocados (people eat those a lot, right?) peaches, strawberries and a few oranges. This way, if Harry doesn’t eat them he can always use most of them for smoothies. He doesn’t even drink smoothies, what a mess. “So, what masterpiece were you watching that I interrupted?” 

“The Titanic.” 

“You were watching The Titanic alone?” Louis holds back a laugh, taking the cart over to the canned goods section, “Just needed a good cry?”

“Leonardo DiCaprio gives me life.” 

“Ah.” There’s _so_ many canned goods, he's awkwardly overwhelmed, “You should check out Shutter Island, it’s pretty good, he’s in that, too.” 

“Seen it, it gave me the creeps and I doubted my entire existence for like, a whole week, maybe more. Don’t want to relive the trauma.” Louis nods along, forgetting that Niall can’t actually see him while he eyes the foods. Maybe he should get stuff for pasta? Ramen noodles are a good go-to, maybe some ground beef for burgers, and it also works for tacos, he’s being diverse, how smart. 

Before long, he’s got the entire cart full of a ton of different foods, so much that Harry is bound to like at least half of what’s in this cart. He’s thankful for the constant chatter in his ear from Niall’s chipper self, it actually made the whole experience go by quicker than he had originally thought. Got Niall on a rant about how movies never compare to the book and why The Great Gatsby wasn’t an exception to that, delving deeper into the DiCaprio obsession that Louis didn’t even know he had. As each item is scanned, Louis can’t help but feel guilty at the rising cost, because it’s definitely getting up there, and that’s a lot of fucking money to spend on food and he’s used to paying a fourth of this. 

When the total tops off at almost a hundred and seventy pounds, the guilt eats him alive, and he can’t do it. So, he pulls out his own card, asking the cashier if she can split it between two forms of payment. Because he’s not going to do that, he can’t do that, and it almost feels good that Louis could contribute, even if it means that he could possibly be in the negatives from this trip alone. 

“Why’d you split the payment?” Niall asks, and obviously pulling the speaker away was not enough to keep Niall from hearing him. Boy hears like a fucking dolphin. 

“Because it was a shit ton of money.” Louis responds, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Louis, if he gave you his card with no questions, it means he’s got more than enough on there for groceries, y’know? You’re paranoid.” 

“It’s not that I don’t think he has enough on here, his watch looks like it costs more than a beach house, it’s just that it doesn’t feel fair. We’re supposed to be splitting things, not paying for them alone, it’s all in the unwritten flatmate rulebook.” Louis bites his lip, watching the cashier slide his card and praying to the divine that it doesn’t decline. When she wordlessly hands it back, a flood of relief washes over him, at least he’s not completely broke. 

“You gotta invite me over one night this week, he better not try to weasel his way into the best friend slot, because it’s well taken.” Niall warns, and Louis doesn’t stop the roll of his eyes, what an odd thing to say. “Wanna make sure he’s a good suitor, y’know, make sure he’s not going to be detrimental.” 

“He’s a kid, Niall, couldn’t be detrimental to me even if he tried. Plus, it doesn’t proper matter, my father is expecting me to make this work, I’m sure he’ll be less than pleased if I kicked out the person he sent and brought in someone else.”

He can hear Niall’s scoff through the line, “Since when d’ya care what pleases your dad?” 

“I don’t,” Louis argues, thinking about the struggle of getting everything into the flat and hoping that Harry is there to lend a helping hand, “I just don’t care to listen to him bitch about it, is all.” 

“Okay, I understand that.” 

“Good, and I should’ve probably thought this through.” Louis sighs, feeling like the stupidest, most foolish person alive. “I have the largest load of groceries and guess what I _don’t_ have?” Louis pauses for good measure, “A fucking car, Niall, don’t have a fucking car to get it back to the flat.” 

“Fuck, mate.” Niall’s voice deflates, “Truck is in the shop, getting new tires, they won’t be on for about an hour or so.”

“Niall,” Louis whines, “They’ll perish by then.” 

And an idea pokes it’s way in, but it’s absurd and a stretch, the thought makes his stomach instantly sour. “Call a cab or something, I’m sure they’ll get you there in time.” Niall offers, but the wait times are never consistent and Louis is not going to let all the food go to waste, so he mutters the next sentence as urgent but as polite as he can, “I’m gonna let you go, mate, I’ll call you when I get back to the flat, yeah?” 

“Yeah, okay, call me if you have any trouble.” Niall says, before the call is ended and he automatically begins dialing his father’s number. He really doesn’t want to call him, in fact, it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do right now (or ever.) But apart from waiting some unknown amount of time, this is the next best option. The phone rings a few times, and right before Louis disconnects, his father’s voice answers, surprised and bored at the same time, is that even possible? 

“Louis, what do you need?” He’s always so polite, very endearing. 

“Do you have Harry’s number?” 

“Who?” 

Frustration and disbelief makes Louis’ face hot, “He’s the flatmate you arranged, how do you not know his name?” Louis’ voice is full on irritated and annoyed, but honestly, how could he not know?

“Oh, right, sorry,” The phone shuffles, “I’m at work now, so I’ll just ask his father. And speaking of jobs,” Louis takes a shallow breath, resting a hand on his hip, because here it comes, “Have you gotten one yet?”

“I’ve been applying all day, actually, it doesn’t happen that quickly.” He answers, tone bitter. His father doesn’t reply, but he can hear a faint talking in the background, he hopes that it’s Harry’s dad he’s talking to, Louis’ in a bit of a rush.

“Okay, I’ll text you his contact info.” Is all he says, and then the line goes silent. Because he hung up on him, just like that. Rude. Louis holds his phone out, expectantly, waiting for the text to come through. It’s a little unsettling that his father knew next to nothing about Harry before he arranged him to come live with his own son, he didn’t even know his name, for fucks sake. Who picks a random person without as much as prior knowledge to live with someone in their family? Well, his dad, apparently. Which just says enough about his character, how caring of him, right? Right. 

As soon as the text comes, Louis clicks the number, holding the phone up to his ear. It rings, and rings, and then rings some more before going to automatic voicemail. Fucking great. He calls once more, with a faint cross of his fingers, pleading that Harry answers his damn phone call. Luckily, there’s a voice on the other line that doesn’t match the robot voicemail, but it doesn’t match Harry’s either, “Hello?” 

“Uh, is Harry there?” Louis asks, a bit confused, because did his father send the wrong number by accident? He doesn’t hear the voice again, but there's muffled talking in the background. A couple minutes pass, and Louis is tapping his foot impatiently, blinking too fast out of irritation. 

“Hello?” And this time it’s a familiar voice, bless. 

“Harry, it’s Louis.” 

“Oh,” He answers, sounding taken back. His voice sounds rough and tired, breathy, it’s a little uncomfortable. “Why’d you call?” 

“Because I need a favor, I just got done buying the groceries, and, well, I don’t have a way to get them home.” It’s embarrassing to say, because what twenty four year old doesn’t own a fucking car?”

“Your car maybe? How did you get there?” 

“I walked.” 

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to get some fresh air, why do you think? I don’t have a car, dipshit.” He snaps, instantly regretting the venom in his words, but Harry doesn’t seem to care, not even for a moment. 

“Uh, okay, you don’t have another way home?” 

“If I did, I wouldn’t be calling you right now.”

“Alright,” Harry sighs -more shuffling- “you’re at the grocery store that’s like, ten minutes from the flat, right?” 

“That’s the one.” Louis says and it’s calmer this time, his tone controlled, he always seems to be on edge right after talking to his father, as brief as the conversation may be. He just has this way of making Louis’ entire mood shift, it’s a gift, really. 

“Okay, I’ll be there in twenty five minutes.” He doesn’t sound happy at all that he has to stop doing whatever he was doing, and judging by the way his voice is worn out and he seems out of breath, Louis really doesn’t want to know what he was doing. He’s just going to pretend that Harry was hiking, it makes the situation seem less.. awkward. But anyway. 

“Thanks.” 

Harry murmurs a quick “You’re welcome,” before his focus is switched to the person who answered the phone first. He can hear a brief dialogue, the exchange sounding nothing but irked, before Harry finally hangs up. 

He saunters over to the bench, taking his cart with him and opting to not think about what just happened and how he’s not even going to entertain the thought of ever bringing it up to Harry after this is all over. He just wants to get home, unpack the groceries and take a relaxing bath. It brings a small smile to his face when he remembers how pretty the flat looks, he forgot that he’d just recently redecorated the entire thing. And today was very eventful, job applications, shopping for decorations, then the actual decorating itself, a long and exasperating trip to the grocery store and a graceless interruption of Harry _hiking_ with his dude friend.

Okay, he _really_ needs that hot bath.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis has a short fuse and things boil over.

It’s fucking cold. No, not cold, it’s positively frigid and Louis wants to take Harry’s face and scrape it against the concrete. Because not only was he supposed to be here an _hour_ ago, he is purposefully avoiding all of Louis' calls and texts and it's so fucking annoying that Louis is steaming. Funny, that, because he can see his breath as it leaves in angry pants from his lungs, and he’s trying with everything he has to keep his heat pent up so he doesn’t catch pneumonia. The cold is devouring his skin, leaving the tips of his fingers numb. People, always so pretentious and judgmental, are walking by, giving him that look. The look that says, ‘why is this guy just sitting here with a fuck ton of groceries, alone?’ So, naturally, he’s returning it with a friendly glare that says nothing less than ‘mind your own fucking business, thanks.’

Cars are passing by, seamlessly taunting him when none of them contain a curly haired lad that may or may not be the victim of a serious ass-chewing as soon as the opportunity arises. 

Another twenty minutes pass and Louis’ jaw is beginning to ache from how tightly he’s clenching his teeth. His phone battery is bordering its last one percent, hanging on for dear life. And being the idiot that Louis undoubtably is, he uses it to call Harry one last time. Of course, of _fucking_ course the line goes straight to voicemail and then cuts off completely, Louis coming face to face with a black screen. And fuck, Louis is livid. So livid, in fact, that he gives not one single fuck as he starts hauling the cart down the sidewalk. He’ll bring it back tomorrow, but in no way is he about to sit here and let him (and the food) freeze over. He looks about as shady as they come, looking all around to make sure a worker isn’t present to call him out on his theft as he strolls away.

When he makes it about two hundred feet away from the store he deems himself safe, letting down his guard and hoping there’s not a hefty prison sentence that comes along with thieving a shopping cart. It makes him feel better to say that he’s not stealing it, per-se, but rather he’s taking it for a joyride.  

He’s muttering some very, very unpleasant things about Harry not-so-quietly as he walks as fast as he can while simultaneously freezing his nards off in the process. The whole walk is very lonely and Louis’ nose and cheeks are a permanent red, probably, from the relentless whip of air. His hands are gripping the handle like a vice, careful to avoid any cracks in the concrete that could tip the entire cart over, because Louis is entirely sure that he wouldn’t have the energy to pick it back up. And if this night got any worst, he would most likely just plop right down where he’s standing and start crying, shamelessly, of course. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d looked absolutely ridiculous today, considering he just spent over an hour waiting on a bench in the freezing cold with a full cart and a disgruntled expression. 

How fucking dare him. Honestly, who the hell does that? Who moves in with someone they don’t know, stays up all hours of the night, melds them into place with a viciously tense (and unnecessary) stare, then lies about picking them up when they knew they had no other means of getting home? Especially when food is involved, which reminds him. He halts, walking over to the bags and rifling through until he spots a box of chocolate cupcakes which he tears into like he hasn’t eaten in months. He can’t taste it really, because his mouth is frozen and his taste buds aren’t functioning properly under the circumstances. He just wants to scrape Harry’s face over the concrete, has he already said that? Anyway, he’s hungry and all the food he just purchased is right in front of him, so he takes advantage of that. 

The tasteless cupcake is shoveled down within seconds before he continues his journey back to his flat. 

He has half a mind to take all of Harry’s shit and make lawn ornaments out of it. Skew them across the grass and never look back. But, then he would lose his flat and he’d most likely be living in a shopping cart rather than pushing one and he’s weighing his options very heavily. He’s not that stupid, but anger is blinding sometimes. He should’ve used that last percentage to call Niall, surely his truck was ready by now, but he had this hope that Harry would morph into a decent human being long enough to answer his phone call after the twelfth time. But, no, he was wrong and Harry is still an asshole and Louis’ freezing his fucking face off out here and he hates everything. 

He hates _everything._

His expression is sour and he’s a little worried that it’ll be stuck like that forever when his flat finally comes into view. It’s still about another five minute walk, but there’s a finish line in sight and it makes him insides warmer just thinking about it. The fact that Harry would do this to him isn’t hurtful, really it isn’t. It’s infuriating and it makes Louis bite his lip so hard the familiar taste of copper and the bright color of crimson is leaking from the pressure. Yeah, he sensed from the beginning that Harry was trouble, it evaporated from his fucking pores, but he never thought it would reach this level. To tell someone you’re going to be there in what, twenty-five minutes, is what he said, then to just not show up at the same time he’s hitting the hater button on every single one of Louis attempts at getting ahold of him? 

Bastard. 

But Louis' not going to dwell, because he’s reached his flat and the next mission on his mind is getting everything in and unpacked. Sure enough, it’s then that headlights are pulling into the driveway, half-blinding him and making him even more irritated than before, if that was close to being a possibility. Of course Harry would be arriving right at the same time as him, he’d actually rather do this all by himself, but the skin on his hands is drying out and making it hurt to use, so. 

A curly brown head bobbles out from the drivers side, sauntering (he’s not in any rush) over to where Louis is standing. The tone of Louis' words is about as venomous as he can possibly muster when the syllables finally leave his frozen lips, “Don’t even think about _breathing_ in my general direction.” He hisses without as much as a glance Harry’s way. 

He can hear a sharp exhale, and it’s a good minute before Harry even manages to move. When he does, it towards the cart, already starting to pack on as many bags as he possibly can, before wordlessly continuing to the front door. Louis couldn’t give one single fuck if he’s hurt Harry’s feelings, in fact, he hopes that he did. The way Harry walks indicates he's riddled with guilt, hanging his head and averting his eyes. It’s a silence that’s full of tension when they’ve gotten all the food in, only the shuffling of bags and the clanks as containers hit the table and the counter. They’re putting everything away, and Louis has to physically bite back and swallow his words, because if he says them, there’s no doubt they’d be sharp enough to crumple Harry, he has a gift for that. 

He plans to get this done, and then go straight to his room, run the hottest bath he can handle before boiling himself and taking his tired, angry ass straight to bed. 

Harry is the first to say anything, and his voice is light and timid, it’s almost childlike, “I’m sorry, Louis, I-“

“I don’t want your excuses, that was fucking rude, Harry. Blatantly and wholly fucking rude. I waited for you, for over an _hour_ and you never came,” The more he talks to angrier he gets. But when he looks at Harry, really looks at him for the first time since they’ve gotten into the flat, the ferocity is almost unbearable. 

His hair is even messier than usual, his pupils blown with wild eyes and his lips are shaded darker and obviously swollen against clammy skin. He looks absolutely fucked, he looks _recently_ fucked. “And just why didn’t you come, huh? Care to explain to me why you blew me off when you knew I had no other way home, then ignored my phone calls?” Louis gives him a split second to answer, his eyes focused on the deep purple mark just under his jawline, “Let me answer for you. Because you were too busy fucking someone to bother to care, am I right? I’m spot on, I can tell by your fucking face.” He almost spits the last word, and Harry visibly shrinks away.

Harry’s mouth is open, but the words are halted on the tip of his tongue, caught in his throat, and Louis just doesn’t have the patience to wait for his answer. 

Instead, he pulls out Harry’s card, sliding it across the table towards where the boy is standing awkwardly, something written in his eyes, but it’s a different language and Louis doesn’t care enough to decipher it. “Here, and I split the bill, because that’s what flatmates do, it’s all equal.” Nothing in his voice is sincere, and he hopes it burns Harry the way he thinks it does. 

Harry’s eyes are wide, unblinking, never moving from Louis’ face. He knows that his expression is lacking any sort of sympathy, and he can feel the way it’s twisted into an unfaltering glare, staring right back at Harry with such conviction that it's practically screaming. Louis bites the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to dissect the guilt on Harry’s face before he walks off, slamming the door behind him without another look back. He immediately goes into his bathroom, his clothes are constricting too tight and he’s peeling them off, throwing them hastily onto the floor before starting the water, turning it to it’s hottest setting. 

He lights all the candles he has readily available, turning off all the lights and letting the flames envelope the room in a sort of ambiance that he hopes will calm him. He empties a bit of dragonfruit bubble bath into the stream, feeling the stress evaporate from his shoulders as the bubbles fill the tub. He dips one foot in, then the other, shuddering under the blistering temperature. His boiling blood calms to a simmer, he breathes deep, filling his lungs to their full capacity, until it hurts then he breathes in even more. He’s never let himself blow up on anyone like that apart from his father, but it was the combination of a shitty situation and almost two hours of overthinking. And maybe Louis was a bit harsh on the kid, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was too busy fucking someone and Louis had to walk home with too many groceries and too many pent up thoughts. 

And the flat is completely silent, which means any little sound could be heard. But he hasn’t heard Harry’s boots on the hardwood, which means he hasn’t moved from his spot. It doesn’t sit right in Louis’ stomach.  

He tries to ignore the way that information refuses leave his mind, dipping his head into the water and immersing his face under the searing heat, hopefully it’ll clear his thoughts. The floating sweet of the candles' scent, paired with the flickering flame against the amber walls does a good job in making Louis’ eyelids droop. It might also have to do with the fact that he’s too exhausted to feel anything else right this minute. His actions were justified, right? He had a right to be so mad he was seeing red, didn’t he? Then why does he feel like it was a major overreaction, he didn’t ask to be left in the cold, he trusted Harry to come, it’s not his fault that Harry felt getting his dick rubbed was more important. Now Louis at least knows where his priories were, and that was the last time he’d ever ask Harry for any favors. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice… well. 

Getting out of the hot tub leaves his skin feeling too cold and exposed, immediately wrapping his smaller frame tightly into a towel. After he’s sure that he’s fully dry, apart from his hair, he jumps into bed. He almost falls asleep as soon as his face hits the soft cotton of his pillow, but not before he sees the light pouring in from the kitchen, which only confirms his earlier thoughts that Harry hasn’t moved. Louis wonders how long he’ll stand there.

 

*****

 

He must’ve been knocked the fuck out, because when he wakes up his face is submerged in a pool of drool and it’s crusted onto the side of his face, which is only extremely disgusting. He does a quick stretch, listening to the pops of the bones in his back, his legs, arms and somewhere he’s not quite sure of. He can hear the patter of rain against the glass of his window, the sun muted behind grey storm clouds and he sort of just wants to lay here all day long and not move a single muscle. But it’s only a matter of time before the caffeine headache rears it’s ugly self and Louis needs a cup of coffee to prevent it. So, on that note, he throws his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the deep sleep from his eyes. Firstly, he needs to wash the dry spit from his face (and eyelashes?) before he even steps foot from his bedroom, because _no_ , he’s not walking around with drool covered skin. 

After his face is wiped of any excessive saliva, he drapes on his bathrobe, tying it tightly around his waist. When he opens the door, it’s slow and quiet, and he’s peeking out from the small crack to see if anyone is standing in the kitchen. It seems safe, so Louis steps out, making a beeline to the coffee pot. 

“Good morning.” A voice rasps, and Louis jumps at the sound, whirling around to see Harry sitting on the couch. Anger isn’t his first emotion, or his second or his third. Actually, he’s sure he got it all out last night, so his tone his lacking any spite when he finally speaks, “You really need to quit scaring me, you know?” 

“I’m sorry.”

“For scaring the wits out of me or for leaving me to die in the cold?” His words are more joking, but there’s still a bit of a grudge in-between the letters. 

“Both.” Is all he says. 

“Look, I don’t feel like talking about it, okay? Let’s just.. move on.” Louis shakes his head, turning on the coffee pot and automatically smelling the air for that familiar scent of hazelnut. 

Harry seems more than okay with that answer, of course, running his hands over his knees. He must’ve slept in his boxers and his band tee, because that’s all he’s wearing and his legs look even more Bambi-like when they’re not covered in tight denim. He looks younger than usual, his face swollen with sleep and half his hair matted to his head. “Do you always drink hazelnut coffee?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, pulling out a mug and a spoon, sliding over the sugar dish, “It’s my favorite kind, so.”

“I’ve never had it.”

“Well, the pot makes enough for about eight cups, so help yourself.” Louis offers, his voice a bit bland but he blames that on the fact that he’s not fully awake just yet. The steam from the coffee is fogging his face, pouring fluidly into the mug. 

“Okay.” Harry seems more than hesitant as he walks over, his eyes locked on Louis and his steps slow, like Louis’ a ticking bomb and will go off if Harry moves to quickly. It makes Louis laugh, which, in turn, makes Harry’s face screw up in confusion.

“Kid, I’m not going to skin you alive, yeah? You don’t have to be so terrified of me, I’m like half your size anyway.” 

“There’s so much anger potential packed into such a little body,” Harry's eyes are still wide, studying Louis, “What’s there not to be terrified of?” 

“You left me to walk home you didn’t kill my entire family, Harry, its over, I’m fine.” Harry visibly relaxes under that, coming to stand right next to Louis. Despite his better judgement, Louis hands him a mug, offering up the tiniest of smiles, Harry glows at that. It comes off as a hint at forgiveness, which Louis isn’t denying, and the atmosphere seems to calm dramatically. 

It’s a silent interaction, only the sounds of stirring spoons as they stand there, but the tension has evaporated away and it’s no longer awkward. Louis should still be mad, but nothing in his body tells him that he is and he doesn’t push it, just lets himself stay calm and neutral and he lets Harry breathe next to him without an ounce of hesitation. He can feel Harry’s eyes on his profile, which kind of makes him feel like he’s burning. But the gaze isn’t intense as much as it is deciphering. Like he’s trying to gauge the way Louis is feeling. Finally, he breaks the stare, stepping away to take seat onto the barstool, hands cupped around the heated mug. Louis lets out a breath he had no idea he was even holding. 

“I see that you bought quite the variety of foods, can’t tell if you’re a health nut or inept on gaining forty pounds over the course of next week.” Harry says, blowing a gentle breath over the surface, his face seems to go hazy at the lovely smell. 

“I didn’t know what kind of food you liked, so I, like, bought of little of everything? I guess, I just wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to buy a ton of shit that you wouldn’t eat.” 

“That was thoughtful.”

“Wasn’t it?” Louis asks, “What do you like, anyway?” 

“Pretty much anything that’s put in front of me, I’m not a picky eater.” Harry shrugs, sipping the hot coffee, a soft hum falling from his lips, “Wow, this is really good.”

“I know, that’s why it’s my favorite.” Louis responds, not feeling the way his lips are pulled into a smile, Harry looks like he’s falling in love with the coffee right in front of his eyes. 

They both keep the small talk to a minimum, and it’s always Harry that’s first to initiate the conversation. He’s feeling guilty, Louis can tell, but Louis doesn’t miss the opportunity to get to know Harry a little more, some people are just more interesting than others. “Do you have any plans today? Its kind of shitty out there.” 

“Not really,” Louis quirks his head to the side, nonchalantly, “Not big on going out in the rain, what about you?” 

“No,” He shakes his head, a little too quickly, “I might not even put pants on.”

Louis puts his empty mug into the sink, heading over to couch and flopping down, grabbing hold of the remote. Harry can lounge around in his boxers all day long if that’s what he wants, he does live here, but Louis opts for comfortable sweats and an oversized t-shirt, which he changed into when he started to feel less than confident in his bathrobe. The shirt’s hem falls mid-thigh, which makes him look even smaller, but its comfortable and soft and it’s Louis’ favorite one, so. Harry’s still banging around in the kitchen, making something to eat after being deflated when Louis turned down his breakfast offer, he usually doesn’t eat early in the morning, it makes him nauseous. 

Louis’ watching him from the living room, Harry completely out of his league being way more entertaining than anything on the tellie. Harry’s standing at the stove, frying whats presumed to be eggs, running a hand through the mess of curls in an attempt to tame the way they’re falling over his eyes. Louis’ not quite sure how he gets his quiff to stay up like that without any product, and how Louis’ pre-fringe quiff days consisted of enough hair gel to drown a small child. His thoughts, though, are cut immediately short when Harry runs his finger up his back, raising his shirt. It not only exposes the large and expanse ribcage tattoo, but also the angry red scratch marks that are surrounding his spine, all the way down to the line of his hips. 

Louis looks away immediately, blinking and pretending like he didn’t just see that. Suddenly the Home and Gardening channel just became the most interesting thing in the world. 

“I’m slaughtering these eggs in here,” Harry calls from the kitchen. And his face in covered in a childish innocence, which is a stark contrast against those red marks etched into his skin. “This may have been one of my worst ideas yet.” 

“How do you possibly fuck up eggs, Harry? They’re quite literally the easiest thing to make.” Louis' voice comes out more confident than he feels, and his insides are feeling jumbled and awkward, with no clear reason why. 

“I burn toast, to be honest with you.” 

Louis sighs, standing from his comfortable and warm spot on the couch to join a flustered Harry in the kitchen. The eggs in the skillet are bordering black, and Louis has to hold back a laugh, because Harry really did butcher these, it’s hilarious. “I’ll remake them for you, but you need to stand here and watch so you can fend for yourself next time. I may be your senior but I’m not going to cook for you all the time.” 

Harry nods, eager, as he pulls an imaginary notepad and pencil from the air. He pretends to scribble notes as Louis washes out the skillet, grabbing two eggs from the container and cracking the yolks into a cup. 

“So, step one, you need to put your eggs in a cup, or a bowl, whatever floats your boat, right? Okay,” Louis grabs the milk from the fridge, “step two, pour a little milk into the cup or bowl, use your own judgement on the amount.” Harry still scribbles notes, Louis’ smile widens at that. 

“Step three,” Louis raises a fork into the air, Harry looks at it like it’s the holy grail, “Mix the milk and the eggs, like so.” Louis stirs the mixture, until it’s a yellow paste, beating out the chunks of yolk with the prongs of the fork. “Make sure your skillet is hot, and you can use either butter or nonstick spray to keep the eggs from burning to the bottom. You keeping up with me here?” 

Another nod. So, Louis grabs the butter, flicking a bit into the skillet and sliding it around to coat the bottom, “Wait till its hot enough, yeah? It should start to cook the egg immediately.” After a couple seconds, Louis pours the mixture in, the loud sizzle filling the kitchen, “So you stand here and, using your spatula, just keep scooping and flipping, don’t let the eggs burn, can you handle that?” 

“You should probably finish, you know, for teaching purposes and all.” And Louis is about to roll his eyes and leave, but the smile, and Harry cocking his head to the side while batting his lashes makes him stay, but he rolls his eyes either way. 

Once they’re finally done, Louis puts them onto a plate, lightly salting and peppering before setting it on the counter, “Here you are, compliments of the chef, we appreciate tips.” 

Harry plants himself firmly at the counter, and Louis doesn’t miss the wince as he leans into the back of the chair. He scoops up a forkful, shoveling it into his mouth and inhaling a sharp breath at how hot they still are, Louis bites his lips to stifle the laugh. “They’re -fuck- they’re good, but damn, that’s so hot.” 

“That’s the point of the stove, Harold.” Louis raises his brows, enjoying the way Harry seems to shovel the food in despite knowing it will most likely burn his mouth. And he’s probably doing it to make Louis happy after his blunder last night, but, well, it’s working. 

Louis doesn’t hang around until he’s done, sashaying back into the living room to take his place on the couch. He’s flipping through the channels, looking for something fun or interesting to watch, ignoring the way his mind is dancing around in his skull, he’s in a proper good mood. The rain hasn’t made a move to let up, so it looks like a day spent watching shows and muting his mind. He almost doesn’t feel the couch dip as Harry sits, curling his feet underneath him. He doesn’t say anything, but keeps his eyes on the screen, and Louis is growing conscious of what he’ll land on, he wonders if 'America’s Funniest Home Videos’ is neutral enough. Harry must’ve downed that plate, it’s only been around three minutes since he’d left him in the kitchen. 

Nothing is really said, but it doesn’t feel unnatural, its like an easy reticence. 

Every once and a while Louis can hear Harry laughing under his breath, it vibrates the entire couch and resonates into Louis’ body. It’s a youthful sound, light, and it comes out over the stupidest of videos. He’ll laugh whenever someone gets hit in the face unexpectedly, or anything involving animals, really. It get’s louder when it’s wedding videos and Harry almost loses his entire shit when a guy sits on a branch and it breaks from under him, sending them both crashing to the ground. He throws his head forward, laughing so hard he can barely breathe, and it’s contagious, making Louis spit out some giggles at just how funny Harry finds it. When he finally stops, tears are streaming from the corner of his eyes. 

“He just, he just was _not_ expecting that, was he?” He laughs again, bringing his fist to his mouth to try and prevent another outburst, “Did you see the look on his face?” 

“Guess that tree was ready for them to.. _leaf_.” Louis jokes, and Harry breaks out into uncontrollable laughter yet again. The pun wasn’t even close to being funny, but Harry’s acting like it was the best thing he’s ever heard in his life. 

The rest of the morning continues just like that. 

It’s around five in the afternoon when the first thunder crackles from the sky, it’s angry and booming, the after vibrations making the plates and cups in the kitchen rattle together. Louis really isn’t a huge fan of storms, but he tolerates them. Weather alerts are popping up at the bottom of the screen, just letting everyone know the areas where the storm is expected to hit the hardest. Luckily, it isn’t here, and hopefully everything will blow over sooner versus later. Harry seems completely unaffected, huddled up on the other end of the sofa and watching the show, the changing lights dancing across his face, in all different colors. He looks like a completely different person than last night, Louis doesn’t want to think about the Harry that’s freshly fucked, opting for the one that looks blissed out over slapstick comedy. 

He’s getting less and less annoyed about what happened last night. After a pretty nice day, Harry doesn’t seem so bad. He _might_ actually be a nice friend to have around, and Louis generally hates people, so that’s paying him a huge compliment. Louis doesn’t have a shit ton of close friends (surprising, right?) but anyone who can just relax without being serious or getting on his last nerve is good company in his book. 

 

***

 

The storm wages on, turning out to be not much more than intimidating thunder and some rain. It’s not too bad, and Harry has officially fallen asleep, light snores filling the air and whirring around. He half wants to draw on Harry’s face as some sort of elementary school payback, but he’s not five (that would pretty hilarious, though) he’s not that immature. He takes the alone time to straighten up the kitchen. Sliding the dishes into the dishwasher, wiping off the counter and stove and sweeping up any mess that made its way onto the tiled floor, before long it’s spotless, just how he likes it to be. He pads through the whole flat, quietly, to clean up any straggled messes, being more careful the closer he gets to the sleeping boy on the couch. Harry’s mouth is fallen open, lips and cheeks mushed against the arm of the couch and it surely doesn’t look comfortable. But Harry’s knocked so it must’ve not been that bad. In his sleep, he looks even younger, and it’s almost sad that the innocence that he shows doesn’t reach his reality. 

Harry doesn’t _look_ like the type to diss someone just because of a lay, nonetheless lie about it. But looks can be deceiving, as everyone knows, so he just shakes his head, finishing up the rest of the rooms. 

His phone has been on the charger for a number of hours, so Louis checks that next. He’s got some messages from Niall, asking if he made it home safely last night, coupled with some missed calls and a more urgent, ‘Louis, it’s not like you to not respond, everything okay?’ He feels a surge of guilt at how he hadn’t even bothered to check his messages after the events of last night, but he was in a fucked up mood and he was probably going to be overly sassy to anyone who came into contact with him. He still needs to return the cart but he’s mildly positive the storm has taken it away and Louis isn’t nearly interested in finding its whereabouts. 

He types out a message to Niall, apologizing for the delay and telling him that all is well. What happened last night will be a conversation for a different day, he just wants to relax. He doesn’t want to talk about it right now and have a repeat of the anger he felt last night, he’s finally letting it roll off his shoulders.  

He’s still got that poking feeling that he maybe overreacted just a little bit, but he doesn’t regret it, considering Harry was doing everything he could earlier to kiss Louis’ ass, trying to mend the possibility of a friendship. Louis doesn’t mind it, not at all, being that seeing this side of Harry was a bit refreshing, especially after seeing _that_ side of Harry mere hours before. Though, he’s never seen someone so upset over a couple of harsh words, and it makes Louis think that maybe it was a bit deeper than just Louis being pissy, he looked oddly upset. Not in the ‘please don’t be mad at me’ way, but in a different way, he can’t really explain it, it was beyond Louis, but the extent is a mystery. 

Louis doesn’t think too hard into it, mostly because he values his sanity. 

Harry’s phone is going absolutely crazy in his room, Louis can hear the vibrations from his nightstand. And as tempting as it may be, Louis shakes the thought. He’s not going to be intrusive and get into Harry’s business, so he shuts the door to his bedroom all the way, muting the sounds and keeping him from further investigation. The rain has picked up substantially, pouring in buckets onto the roof, making it almost impossible to hear anything else. The drops sound heavy and relentless, cloaking the flat in a loud whir. Louis looks over to Harry, whose still sound asleep on the couch, not moving slightly despite the sudden raise in volume. The tellie is still playing home-filmed videos, but Louis can’t make out what the announcer is saying, it’s just so damn loud. 

Naturally, Louis walks over to the window, opening the blinds and checking what the outside world looks like today. It’s already dark, but the heavy clouds are covering the stars, making it seem even darker than usual. The roads and yards are soaked with proof of an unstopped rainfall, making everything look dingy and dull. It’s not pretty, thats certain, the trees are basically leaning onto their sides from the power of the wind, which looks kind of cool, honestly, but not pretty. The city seems dead, void of its normal bustle and even the neighboring houses are dark, no lights lit and it’s a bit eerie, but.  

He doesn’t hang out by the window for very long, choosing a comfortable position on his bed, tangled up into the blankets, phone pulled up with enough funny pictures for a lifetime of scrolling. He turns his TV on in the background, not caring to see what’s playing before laying on his side, facing the wall, flicking his thumb across the screen. It’s boring, yes, but it’s calming and after a chill day Louis is more than willing to just lay here mindlessly and enjoy a night of low-quantified worries. Not a single candle is lit but the atmosphere doesn’t need the help when it’s already so ambient, which is incredibly nice, after an especially stressful past couple of days. 

It still brings up the thought of Liam not attempting to talk to him, which is so out of character for him, he never drags anything out this long. He kind of wants to call him and ask him what the fuck his problem is, why he is avoiding this confrontation so full-heartedly, but he doesn’t. Because it wasn’t Louis who over stepped any boundaries and got into something that was entirely not his business. He wasn’t the one who, without Louis’ permission, blabbed to his father (of all people) about his financial stability, or lack there of, for that matter. And it wasn’t his jurisdiction, he had no right to impose like that and he still hasn’t apologized. Which, despite what Louis will admit, is still eating him alive. He deserves an apology of sorts. 

It’s not like he’s playing the victim game or anything right now, but Liam is being a jerk and he’s never a jerk for more than a day or two at a time. So, he’s going to give Liam another day (not one day more) before he gives up and Louis’ normally forgiving stance towards Liam will be pushed thin, he knows not to drag their father into this shit, and behind Louis’ back, at that. It wouldn’t be the first time Liam has done something like this, but Louis hopes it’ll be the last. After all, Louis manages to stay out of Liam’s personal business, when he gets into petty fights with his boyfriend over next to nothing. And Louis has to listen to Liam bitch about how “Zayn didn’t remember our four month anniversary, can you believe?” He does what any brother would do, listen and tell Liam what he thinks. What he doesn’t do, is go crawling to Zayn and spilling out everything Liam had told him. Because that would be a shitty thing to do. He guesses that respect is only a one way street when it comes Liam and him. Oh, well. 

But, he chooses to move on. It’s not at all worth it to sit and get worked up over something like this after he’s spent the entire day avoiding any stressful thoughts, and succeeding, for that matter. His fan rotates at an even speed as he lays in his bed, relaxing his mind and body while looking over the picture of a pug with it’s wrinkles smoothed out. And all is well, that is, before thunder roars once more and the power goes out, leaving Louis in the pitch black with just the small screen on his phone to provide any light source.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis gets scared and Babe Ruth makes a guest appearance.

Louis loves the dark, he really does. But, he loves it a little more when he has the option of turning on the lights whenever he pleases. So, its safe to say the sudden power outage startled him just a tad. Either way, there’s not much he can do until the storm blows over and everything can calm, so he does what any normal person would do- he simply lays there and continues with his previous activity of scrolling through funny pictures. The wind outside is rushing around, brutally, and it almost sounds likes distant and pitchy screams. It’s rivaled only by the booming thunder and random flashes of bright lightening. Every time a new bolt crackles through the sky, the room goes completely white, like a strong camera flash, making the proceeding darkness even more ambiguous. He’s never really bothered with storms, he’s never really bothered with darkness, but for some reason this specific combination is putting him on edge. 

He doesn’t like it. 

A few deep breaths later, he decides to let his eyes adjust, turning off the phone screen and laying on his back. The moonlight should be enough to adequately light the flat by itself, meaning he won’t have to go light all the candles around. He’s not feeling that for two reasons, one- that takes effort and this bed is really warm right now. Two- it makes his insides feel uncomfortable thinking about searching the blackened rooms for his lighter, which seems to grow legs and run away to hide itself whenever Louis looks the other direction. So, he’ll just lay here (thanks) and be patient until this whole thing can be taken care of. Apparently, the storm wasn’t predicted to hit this hard here, and Louis can’t help but roll his eyes at the meteorologist who promised it would pass over without much disturbance. As long as he’s lived in this flat, the power hasn’t gone out, so he really has no idea of a timeline on when everything will flick back on. It could be hours, it could be tomorrow morning. He hopes it’s not the latter. 

The swirls on the ceiling are starting to be more distinguishable, the of ridges of paint from the brushes resemble water, puddling waves of different varieties. 

After a few (long) minutes, he’s able to make out the corners of furniture, blinking every now and again to try and speed the process. Everything is still mostly a shadow and they’re somewhat resembling some very off-putting monster type shapes that is making Louis' jaw lock for a brief second. That is, before the terrifying figure turns out to be a mere desk lamp and now Louis feels sort of like a twat, but anyway.  

He takes a deep breath, then another, his eyes wandering to the window in what would seem like the perfect time. There’s a black form scurrying off away from view, and Louis’ feet are on the floor within seconds. His heart jumped, pounding disgustingly in his throat because what the actual _fuck_ was that thing? With shaky hands and hesitant steps he teeters towards the window, knowing that if the smallest sounds were to arise he would most definitely be shitting himself right here in his bedroom. At first, there doesn’t seem to be anything, just the howling wind ripping through the leaves, grass blades leaning and whipping around accustomed to the rough breeze. The stars are covered by the thick bog of storm clouds and the moon is muted, making it even darker than every other night. Right as Louis leans his forehead against the frigid glass, there is an eerie scraping against the rubbage can outside and it scares the life out of him. His body jolts away so fast it knocks the air from his lungs, he’s positive he almost had a heart attack just now. He’s not sure where he needs to be, but he wants to get the fuck out of this room. 

His feet are leading him because his mind is frazzled and coherent thought isn’t possible when you’re this fucking frightened. For some reason, they take him to the couch where Harry is still sound asleep. Louis’ hands are on his shoulders immediately, shaking furiously without even wondering if Harry is going to send a fist in his general direction. 

“Harry, Harry- wake up!” 

His eyes are fluttering open, but his lips are pulled into a frown, only more than obvious he’s not entirely pleased with the sudden wake up call, “What the fuck?” 

His rough voice catches Louis by surprise, but he brushes it off, “There’s someone outside.” Louis answers, vision darting around the dark living room. The thunder is shaking every dish he has and Louis has no idea how Harry could sleep through something this loud. 

“There is?” He doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that the power is out. 

Louis nods, hands still firmly gripped on Harry’s shoulders, “Yeah, I saw them run by the window, then I heard something scraping around outside.”

“They’re by _your_ window?” Harry asks, not allowing Louis any time to answer before continuing. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” The statement does nothing to detour Louis, who follows him with a vice grip, he’s not leaving Harry’s side, someone will have to pry him off, probably. 

Harry doesn’t seem to mind, heading to his bedroom. His skin his burning hot beneath Louis’ hold, his nails digging in accidentally but he doesn’t quite care at the moment. He’s half glad that it's so fucking dark that Harry’s not fully visible or Louis would be definitely giving his body a once over, because he’s curious, right. Who wouldn’t be? The fact that Harry’s maneuvering perfectly despite the low-light circumstances only confirms Louis’ earlier thoughts, he’s for sure nocturnal or something. He seems to toss around and discard some shit, ruffling through the items of his suitcase, on the floor, on his bed, then finally the deserted corner where he finally finds what he’s looking for. 

“What is that?” Louis squints through the dark, making out a general shape, but it’s non mistakable, “A baseball bat?” 

“Yeah, stole it from my dad.” 

“So..” Louis quirks his brow, “you’re going to.. beat them to death? Or are we going to invite them to a fun game of baseball?” The sarcasm is strong but it sounds pretty comical so Louis lets it flow anyway. 

“Y’got something better?”

After some quick thought, Louis’ smile drops, “No.” He answers softly, “Whatever, Babe Ruth." 

“Anyway,” Harry breathes and Louis rolls his eyes, “you're going to have to let go of me if you want me to check this out.” His voice kind of floats through the air, it also kind of dances. It could be because the dark is making him loopy or because it’s nice to have someone willing to have your back in an almost- protective?- manner. But Louis’ not letting go and he’s not going to make Harry go out alone. 

“I’m going too, you fuck wad. You wanna add a shirt, though? It’s piss pouring out there right now.” 

There’s a brief silence, but right as Harry starts to speak they’re interrupted by another scraping sound and Louis feels Harry tense up under his nails and he digs them in a little more, his breaths speeding up substantially. “You sure you wanna come, you don’t have-“

“Yes, Harry, now c’mon.”

With no further argument, Harry shakes his head and begins for the door. Louis stays glued to his shoulders, sort of petrified. The sounds of their feet on the hardwood is matched, walking in sync and as much as Louis wants to slow down or stop completely, Harry just moves right along. He may seem brave enough, but it’s clear in the knotting of his muscles that he’s insanely tense and his breathing is just as uneven as Louis', he’s scared too. But, he stays in front, bat wielding as they approach the front door. Louis eyes are as wide as they can possibly go, his body trembling. It’s a combination between the lights suddenly going out and the possibility than an intruder could be lurking around their flat and they’re going at them (one in just boxers and one in sweats and a too-big t-shirt) with a fucking baseball ball. If he has a gun, its pretty much game over. Louis prays whoever it is, they’re at least unarmed. 

The door swings open and it feels like they’re about to venture into a monsoon. Rain is pouring down hard, heavy and it’s almost impossible to see through. 

“Harr-“

“Shh,” Harry cuts him off, “Its fine.” 

Louis’ stomach is twisting around sickeningly as they push forward, getting soaked from head to toe not seconds after leaving the comfort of the flat. The thunder ripples behind them and Louis can feel the vibrations in his chest. He’s debating taking off and running back inside, crawling up into his bed. But his hands make no move to release from Harry. They have to round the corner of the building before they make it by Louis’ bedroom window, and it might as well be another state away, but then again it’s too close. The lightening lights up the sky, and Louis didn’t realize his eyes have been locked on where Harry’s face would be if he could see, and he involuntarily moves in closer. Harry must notice, because he stops there, putting his free hand on Louis’ and looking back. 

“Hey,” His voice is calm, but it’s not hiding how uneasy he feels, “Chill, Louis, it’ll be fine.” 

“There could be anyone back there, how do you know we’ll-“

“Because I’m right here, okay? Nothings going to happen to you.” It sounds more sure than anything Harry has said since they met, and Louis had no idea the protective instinct was so strong in Harry, because they barely know each other, but Harry is willing to come out here armed with a stick of wood just because Louis was scared. Suddenly the rain doesn’t feel so cold. 

He just nods, unable to find his voice, seemingly trapped somewhere deep down in his throat. Harry takes another moment before continuing on, Louis trailing directly behind him. There is clanking around the corner, and if it wasn’t obvious before, something is definitely back there. Louis’ hoping they aren’t trying to break into his window. They’re walking against the brick of the building, Harry’s right hand gripping the bat, his left running along the wall as they approach the corner. His hair is drenched to his head, and for some reason being out here makes him look smaller, even though he’s much taller than Louis. His baggy clothes are clinging to him now uncomfortably, making his body squirm, he just wants to be inside, watching tv in the warmth of his flat. But instead he’s out here in a thunder storm, looking for a possible burglar. How nice did today turn out? For fucks sake. 

The wind is screaming in his ears, his bangs refusing to stay out of his eyes as the rain slows just a bit. He’s staring down at his bare feet on the grass, trying to calm the panic that’s building in his chest and threatening to spill over and make him scream. It’s the fact that he doesn’t know what’s going to happen that’s making this so scary. 

He feels Harry breathe in deep as they turn the corner. 

There’s a loud bang as the rubbage can beside Louis’ window falls to the ground. Louis automatically shrinks behind Harry as his arm tenses to raise the bat in the air, both hands gripping the handle. His muscles feel like a coil about to spring loose, and Louis' face is planted hard against Harry’s back, his eyes squeezed shut waiting for the sound of wood hitting someone’s skull, but it never comes. “Oh my god.” 

“What?” Louis squeaks, refusing to open his eyes or move from his crouched position. 

“It’s a fucking raccoon, Louis. It’s just a raccoon.” 

Louis looks up just in time to see the furry rodent scurry away, leaving a mess of their trash all over the place. It feels like a thousand pounds of pressure was just removed from Louis’ chest, “Holy shit.” 

A smile falls over both of their faces as an easy laugh replaces the tension. “Wow, all of that for a raccoon.” 

“Why are we still out here?” Louis says, taking a dash towards the front door. Harry’s longer legs take him further, and he’s in front of Louis in no time. “It’s not a race you shit.” 

“You’re losing either way.” Harry shouts over the wind, already in the flat, Louis just rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today. 

 

Once they’re finally inside, it feels absolutely lovely. The warm air feels amazing against his soaking wet skin. The adrenaline is still strong in his veins, pumping wildly through his body. It feels like a fire, it also feels safe. Louis automatically goes to light all the candles while Harry is (presumably) putting away his murder weapon. Luckily, the lighter is in the first drawer he checks and its probably because life has tortured him enough for the last day or two and he really couldn’t deal with going on a wild goose chase to find this stupid little lighter. He’s got about ten candles in the living room alone, but it allows a nice golden glow to surround the room, all while adding an assortment of fragrances that mix and mingle in the air. He can almost see the different scents floating around and swirling into each other, bouncing off the walls and meeting happily in the middle. 

The shadows are soft, the room feels soft. 

The delicate air is breathed in, and its like an injection of relaxation in a heavy dose was just shot into his body. All of the stress and fear of earlier scurried away with that animal, and now he feels kind of silly at how much he overreacted, but its better safe than sorry. 

Louis thinks back on the overpowering terror that caused him to leach onto Harry’s shoulders, and a small, light laugh breezes from his lips. It’s funny how just last night he was screaming at Harry, fuming with anger, his words were toxic and harsh. But then he was hiding behind Harry and allowing him the trust, the trust he shouldn’t have that Harry would keep him safe. And judging by the ready and tight grip on that bat he was more than willing to swing it on someone if they posed a threat, either to his life, or to Louis' life. And that thought was so sweet, it was comforting. It made Louis melt into a puddle on the floor and it made him want to stay like that. He highly doubts that Liam, or even his own father would be willing to do the same. In fact, he knows they wouldn’t. And that’s his own family, which makes the situation even more of a joke, he barely knows Harry. 

Louis can still remember when he was little, and he was alone in his room before he had his trusty nightlight. He was fast asleep, but the images that played in his head felt more than real. He dreamt about the forrest, the one right behind his childhood home. He was alone, and the wispy branches were like hands reaching out to him, trying to grab him. And he was running, he can remember the way the breath would burn as it entered his lungs. The dirt pounded beneath small, dirty converse and there was screaming all around him. He couldn’t see further than a few feet in front of him before everything faded into a deep black. He kept running and running but soon he wasn’t moving, he was stuck in the same place. Louis didn’t realize that when he was screaming in his dream, he was screaming in reality. His dad had come running into the room, only to find it was just a nightmare. Louis screamed himself awake, eyes immediately landing on his dad, annoyed and leaning against his door frame. 

“ _It was a dream, you’re always so dramatic._ ” He had said before leaving him to go back to bed, just like that. It was hard, because Louis was never allowed to feel scared without feeling the parallel of “pathetic.” Guess it felt nice to have someone that was willing to stand in front of him as this burglar/raccoon was infiltrating the trash beside his bedroom window.  

He shook the memory, bringing himself back to the reality of tonight. 

“Y’okay?” Harry’s voice startled him, his head snapping to look at him. He must have been shooting involuntary daggers because Harry raised his hands in defense, “Just a question.” 

“S-sorry, yeah, you just startled me.” 

“I seem to do that often.” 

“I’m used to living alone, so.” 

“Yeah.” Harry’s voice carried through the air, it melded with the candle light. His hair is an erratic mess, still wet but possibly towel dried just a bit, with dry boxers. Apparently, he was smart enough to change while Louis still stood soaking ass wet in the middle of the living room, thinking about nightmares from when he was a kid and just being all around weird. Of course. 

He walks over to his room, wet feet leaving prints on the floor and almost making him slip and break his neck. He stops right in front of Harry, the proximity close enough to feel the heat from his body, his words come out more of a whisper “Thank you.”

Harry’s lips pull into a small smile at the corner, “For what?”

“Y’know, going out there, with your bat and all.” Louis’ voice gets weaker with every word, like he’s embarrassed to be thanking Harry, but it’s very necessary. 

Harry takes a step forward, and Louis' face is inches away from his chest, still streaked with rain water. His eyes travel down, then back up before meeting with jade green eyes, a spike of electricity shoots up his spine and into his brain, his thoughts morphing. “Don’t mention it, Louis. Who else was going to protect you from small woodland creatures?”  

Obviously, Louis has seen Harry shirtless, but not in the light of so many flickering candles. Not while his mind is buzzing and his blood is rushing. The desire to reach out to Harry is so powerful, and he’s standing so close. 

Louis lets out a breathy chortle at his joke, and doesn’t stop his hand as it reaches up, flattening on Harry’s stomach, his fingers running gently over the lines. It’s more observant, but with the way everything in Louis’ body feels like jelly, and the way Harry stands so tall over him, like a shelter, he wants to feel him. Just the touch of his skin, just something simple and harmless. His hands are hesitant, so are his eyes, but Harry just stands there, calm as can be, watching Louis closely. His eyes are giving him silent permission, and the smile on his face is more of a toned-down smirk. He’s just watching Louis as Louis watches his own hand and the way Harry’s skin raises in bumps behind his touch. The sound in the room is nonexistent, and Louis can feel the banging of Harry’s heartbeat beneath his palm. It’s hot, they seem to be standing in a burning room, but neither of them move, just standing there and allowing soft touches and careful stares to immerse them. 

And the tension in the air is so strong it's drowning him. 

The way the light from the candles are soaking into his skin, the soft and diluted shadows peppering over every curve and crevice, it’s so.. pretty. Its art, something from Greece in the most stunning statue or painting. A mix of gold and black, with sharp corners and softer edges. Harry is crafted beautifully, his body is entrancing. He doesn’t mind at all as Louis’ fingers trace up to his collar bones, hearing the slight intake of breath as he ghosts over the bone, running his touch over his shoulders. It’s random, it’s odd, but its quiet and Louis has to fight the urge to move his hands even lower. Harry takes another step closer. Louis' stomach drops to his soaked feet, and the air from his lungs is hitched in his throat, he can’t bring his eyes to look at Harry’s. He can feel the pressure of his stare, willing him on, he can feel the way Harry’s tensing, he can feel the way his fingers are trembling. Why are they trembling? 

“Are you studying me?” Harry asks, his tone deep and smooth, its like he can flip a switch. And if Harry ever tried to fully seduce Louis, there’s no doubt fighting it would even be a possibility.  

It’s hard to speak, mostly because Louis doesn’t want to ripple the air with his own voice. But the words come out, slip through his lips without even thinking about what he’s about to say, “You’re beautiful.” 

Something in Harry’s eyes flash.. and suddenly he takes a step back, just out of reach. The air gets cold with his body heat being pulled from between them as Louis' hand falls limply to his side, ignoring the confusion on his own face as he looks at Harry. He looks like he’s been slapped, blinking rapidly as he shakes his head. Every feeling in the room drops to the floor and scatters away under the furniture, it’s replaced with an awkward cloak, as Louis opens his mouth to speak. For some reason, all he can do is stare as Harry stalks away, wordlessly into his room. Before the thought can even be connected to make sense of the situation, the door is closed and the conversation is effectively ended. 

Louis can only stand the dumb founded with the tingle of Harry’s warmth on his finger tips and the dagger of denial buried deep in his chest. 

 

 

****

 

 

 

“You seem off, is everything okay?”  Niall asks, his straw clenched between his teeth. Louis had barely been talkative since whatever the fuck that was that happened last night. Harry never came out of his room, not even when Louis made coffee hoping the hazelnut smell would draw him out. Maybe he hurt his feelings? Did he say something wrong? 

“I’m fine, like I told you, just shaken up from the raccoon last night.” 

Niall had lost his shit during Louis’ story, and about fell off of his chair in a fit of laughter. Thinking back now, it is pretty funny how serious everything was and how Harry was about to beat someone with a bat, only for it to be a harmless raccoon just trying to find a meal in the trash. “It’s because your flat has a roof that covers your rubbage can, so he was probably seeking some dry shelter and thought he’d get dinner in, too.” 

“I know, but I really thought it was someone trying to break in, leave me alone.” Louis laughs, mock hurt written all over his face. He texted Harry earlier today, but there was still no response. “Harry’s ignoring me.” 

“Why?” 

World war three wages in Louis’ head as he debates telling Niall what happened between them. Niall will most likely never let this die and may actually start a fan club dedicated to Louis finally being interested in someone. Not that he’s interested. But, whatever. 

“I- uh, I guess I said something that hurt his feelings? Or made him mad? I dunno.” 

“Spill."

“Okay, so- I think I was overwhelmed with how he was so ready to blunder someone to protect us, and maybe the candlelit room didn’t help, but things got, uh-“ Louis bites his bottom lip, playing idly with his food as Niall leans in, “Heated, I guess. I was just, kind of, feeling the muscles of his stomach, shoulders..”

“Oh, this is getting good.” Niall shoves a forkful of food into his mouth, chewing fast, his eyes wide. 

“Anyway-“ Louis sasses, “He looked like pure art without a shirt on, and I lost control of my words. I called him beautiful.” The last word is muffled when Louis shoves his face into his hands. “Then he took off like a bat out of hell, Niall. He hasn’t talked to me since.”

“He’s ignoring you because you complimented him?” Niall asks, equally as confused and Louis doesn’t feel so crazy. “I guess, I don’t know if maybe me touching him made him uncomfortable but he seemed fine up until then, he was into it too.” 

“Are you into him?”

“Not like, I don’t want a relationship or anything. I mean he’s definitely very attractive, and my subconscious is all about it, but I just, I dunno. I don’t know how to describe it. He can be such an asshole, but then he was willing to go out and find an intruder for me. I think I’m just interested in him as a person, not like a boyfriend.” Louis takes a breath, “Does that make any sense at all?” 

“My advice is to just keep talking to him and getting to know him until you’re confident you know him well. But, if it’s only been like forty eight hours and you’re already getting handsy then-“ 

“Shut up, I was just overwhelmed, it won’t happen again.” Louis cuts him off and Niall isn’t believing that, not one single bit. He just raises his brows and sips through his straw, “Okay Louis. He’s fucking hot. I’d be worried if you _weren’t_ feeling that sexual tension.” 

“I never said anything about sexual tension. And you’ve only seen one of his pictures on Twitter that I showed you.” Louis responds, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork, he’s not even really hungry. He’s just eating his confusion away. 

“Is he better looking in person?” 

Louis’ lips are pulled between his teeth, his eyes refusing to meet Niall’s and that’s admission enough, “Holy shit, you’re totally screwed.” 

“I am not.” 

“You’re gonna be.” Niall murmurs and Louis lands a solid punch to his shoulder, making Niall rock back in his chair. “What? Don’t act like it’s not true.” 

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“I’m glad you did. I’m super interested, its like a good book. Best friend has an unknown, mysterious roommate move in with him. He turns out to be smoking hot and is definitely interested, best friend is refusing to acknowledge that he may, too, be interested and is now going to go home to him and pretend he wasn’t just feeling up on his chest the night before.” Niall narrates in a deep, dramatic voice. And Louis can’t possibly hold back his laugh, his head falling back, hands flat over his stomach. 

“I hate you sometimes.”

“You love me, all the time. Don’t blame me for wanting you to hook up with your attractive roommate.” Niall shrugs. 

“How many times are you going to bring up his looks during this conversation?” Louis asks, ignoring that he’s just a little grossed out by the tomatoes in his salad, he’s not big on tomatoes. “This is a beautiful day, the storm has passed, the sun is out, let’s talk about that instead.” 

“I’m not trying to hit on your man, don’t worry,” Niall blurts, quickly changing the subject before Louis has time to argue. “But yeah, the weather then?” 

And yeah, Niall is annoying and he makes Louis want to stab him with a fork but he also knows how to make him feel much better. If anyone can make a situation less embarrassing and cringe-worthy, it’s Niall. Of course, Niall won’t be there when Louis has to go back to his flat with him, when he has to confront Harry and try to avoid the awkward, “I’m sorry I called you beautiful,” talk. 

Or, maybe he can. 

“Would you, by any chance, be up for staying over at mine tonight?” Louis batts his lashes, tilting his head to the side in a desperate plea. 

“You want me to be pulled into that awful situation, I don’t think I wanna be there for that, no thanks.” Niall shakes his head, shoulders deflating when he sees Louis’ pleading face. 

“We won’t talk about it while you’re there, plus, you get to meet him, I know you want to.” Louis sing-songs the last part, shimmying closer to Niall. 

“If it gets awkward I’m going to be outta there so fucking fast, you got it?” Niall huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s acting like it’s the worst thing in the world, but Louis knows him well enough to see the glimmer of excitement he’s trying to hide beneath his annoyance. 

“So, it’s settled then, you’re gonna meet Harry tonight.” Louis smiles, leaning back in his chair, loving the way Niall is now showing a small smile and this might not be so awful after all. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis finds out some interesting things about Harry.
> 
> (this is all my fiction, the body language interpretation is all for fictional fun, it has no scientific backup.)

Louis' not hungry but he’s still playing with the food on his plate, biting off small chunks of lettuce every now and again and pretending to be otherwise occupied. So, yeah, he’s definitely procrastinating, but could anyone really blame him? He told his roommate he thought he was beautiful (where the fuck did that even come from, honestly?) and shit got awkward so fast its pretty much a blur. Harry’s never came off as anything other than cocky and confident, it sort of just reeks from his pores. So, compliments shouldn’t offend him so much. Maybe Louis came off as condescending, maybe Harry has this unhealthy hate for the word “beautiful.” Either way, there are ripples all over the surface of their newfound friendship, if he could even call it that. It made Louis’ stomach unsettle. 

On a happier note, the sun is shining at full force all over the usually bleak city and making everything look more alive. The grass is dancing happily in the rays, smiles unmistakably peaking out on the corner of everyone’s lips. The world seems to just sway gently following close to the soft breeze and Louis wants to close his eyes and get lost in the sun-saturated serenity, but an obnoxious Irish accent seems to stab his ears. Lovely. 

“So, any plans to get moving anytime soon? I’ve finished my food like, an hour ago.” Niall sits back, arms crossed over his chest in a huff. Impatient Niall is a replica of a grumpy child. 

“To say the day is pretty would be an understatement, darling, why not enjoy it a little longer?” Louis presses, letting the flutter of his lashes remain stagnant on his cheeks, trying to feel connected to the breathing of nature’s calmest state. He feels whole. It’s nicer than pretending to be interested in the soggy food that’s been abandoned on his plate. 

Louis can hear Niall breathe again, an annoyed and bored kind of puff that makes Louis’ nose wrinkle up. He’ll never really understand why Niall can’t just let himself get lost in precious moments like these. Those moments where all the stress that averages a place on tired shoulders finally seems to evaporate for just a few entrancing seconds. Where the only sound is laughter and the brisk scrape of the tree branches. Shoes seem to pad lighter on the concrete, arms seem to feel less weighted, and you remember that in the grand scheme of life, your problems are so much smaller than they seem to be when they’re all cornering you at once. And Louis forgets that his roommate might be uncomfortable with him from now on, and he forgets that his father is forever disappointed at the man he has become. His mind is momentarily blank and it’s him and the sky. 

It’s rare, to say the least, that Louis can unchain himself from all the problems he drowns himself in during his day to day life. Its even more rare that he can do it while not in the comfort of his exquisitely decorated flat. He wants to capture all the traits of nature’s most tranquil qualities. The heated sun, the slow clouds that drift through the never-ending blue, no rush, no chaos. 

And he doesn’t want stress to always have him locked away from things like this, from peace. 

Every single day; it’s bills, how to pay them on time when money is even more scarce than happiness. It’s the empty canvas that taunts him, because his mind is drawing blanks and his jaw is locking up, why can’t he think? It’s the worry about getting a new job, how to speak to people without stuttering and losing his train of thought. It’s not having a car, not feeling like an adult and it’s being the disgrace of your family. They wanted him to be so much more, but he’s as much as he can be. 

But right now the bills are a breeze, the canvas is the crinkled dirt, the social phobia is the sunlight. 

Louis’ bathing in the quiescent essence, he’s letting it soak into his skin and coat his tired face. He’s lost in the unutterable content and he never wants to open his eyes and deal with any urgency, he doesn’t want to get up and walk to face someone he doesn’t understand. His bones ache with the memory of never being good enough to earn praise from the people who meant most to him in the world, and how the only thing that seemed to help was walking in the backyard and staring at the flowers. Memorizing the symmetry, the colors and patterns. How they grew without scrutiny, how they danced so carefree, how they were beautiful without interruption. The inspiration behind what made Louis who he was, and who he wanted to be. 

“Louis?” A smooth, familiar voice shatters the walled serenity, “I’ll be damned.” 

Zayn fucking Malik. Gorgeous, maybe the most gorgeous features Louis has laid eyes on to this day, psychology major. The indefinite boyfriend of Louis’ overly sophisticated step brother, Liam. It’s devastatingly rare that Louis gets to ever see him out, he’s always in class, or with Liam (who Louis’ playing the silent game with.)

Louis smiles down at his abandoned plate, before meeting Zayn’s deep brown eyes. They always seem to bore into you until you’re so uncomfortable you’re spilling your entire life story to him, making you feel bare. “Well well well, look who crawled out of Liam’s ass.” 

“Oh, ok, now I remember why I don’t actually like you, thanks for the reminder.” Zayn laughs, motioning towards the empty chair at Louis and Niall’s table. Louis gives him a quick nod, accepting his request. 

“Liam’s been pretty M.I.A lately, haven’t heard from him, what’s been going on?” Niall enquires, sipping away at him empty drink, making an extremely annoying slurping noise.   
“He and Louis are being children.” Zayn shrugs, flipping nonchalantly through the menu, “Are the burgers here any good? You know I’m kind of a burger snob.” 

“He’s the one being a child,” Louis holds up his index finger, brows raised, “and you honestly can’t go wrong with a burger, it’s meat between a bun, simple as it gets.” 

Zayn’s mouth pops open, and Louis doesn’t admit that he’s having trouble deciphering if he’s actually offended or he’s pretending.

“It can be overcooked and taste like a piece of burnt rubber, the meat can be low-grade, the burger can be too greasy, it could be under or under seasoned, I could go on for days.” 

“I usually get the grilled chicken salad,” Louis offers, choosing not to respond to the list of burger-don’ts Zayn has laid out. If its food, its edible, and Louis’ not keen on turning into a master critic when looking through a menu. 

“Hm,” Zayn scrunches up his nose, “you eat like a rabbit, gross.” 

“You’re wrong, I actually don’t,” Louis corrects, and Niall nods in agreement, “I just enjoy the parmesan cheese they put on it. You’ll usually catch me eating steaks and baked potatoes.” 

“Man, you should’ve come earlier.” Niall pouts, “I finished eating a good hour ago and Louis wasn’t even eating, he was like sunbathing or some shit like that.” 

“I was enjoying nature.” 

“Yes, that fits my characterization of you, Louis.” Zayn squints slightly, allowing his menu to droop in his hands, Niall throws his face directly into his hands with an exasperated sigh. 

“And just what is that characterization, then?” Louis folds his hands onto the table, pushing his plate over to the side. Zayn is pretty much an expert at reading body language, he can tell you things about yourself not even you knew, but you were giving off subconsciously. 

“You’re a very artistic soul, so full of beauty and very inspired by the world. You’re comfortable with the person you are but there is this hesitation that seems to fight against your words,” He pauses, noting the impressed expression drawn on Louis’ face, “seems to me that someone has told you that you weren’t good enough at some point in your life. There are parts of you that are reserved, but when it comes to the naturalistic art, you blossom.” 

“Liam told you,” Louis argues, “you didn’t get all of that just by my fucking body language.” 

“On the contrary, you’re a very animated and expressive person, plus I always listen very closely to the way your voice changes when talking about specific subjects and people, I can read you like a book.” 

“Wow,” Niall mouths, “can you read everyone like that?” 

“Possibly, body language is something people do when they’re unaware of it, so theoretically as long as I can study them for just a bit, then anyone can be read. Can’t promise you it’ll be accurate, though.” 

“There’s not much to Niall,” Louis rolls his eyes, cocking his head playfully to the side. “He just eats, jokes around, eats more and then sleeps. He’s also just generally Irish, so I bet he polka dances in his room.”

“Okay, the only thing untrue is the dancing part, I don’t dance. But I wasn’t actually talking about me.” Niall slides the last words together, voice going lighter, like he’s really excited about his idea.

“So then who?” Zayn asks, folding up his menu and throwing it to the side, having officially lost interest. 

“Louis,” Niall takes a short breath and Louis blinks, waiting, “You have this roommate, right? You don’t really understand him, like mixed signals and all that junk. Why not have Zayn come over with us and give you some feedback on the kind of person he thinks Harry is?” Niall finishes, and it seems like a light bulb has bloomed over Louis’ head. 

“Oh fucking shit, I never thought of that.” Louis whispers, mostly to himself.

“Why not repeat that sentence and see how many more curse words you can fit in there, Louis?” Zayn’s face looks like an accusing mother. Louis flips him the middle finger.

“Would you be up to that? I mean, if not, that’s fine, but like-“ 

“Chill Lou, I’d definitely be up for it. Though you know I don’t promise you it’ll be 100% accurate. Some people are able to hide their body language, hide behind a persona, so I can only read what they allow me to read.” 

“Good enough for me,” Louis sighs, “kid's weird, right? Looked like I had just told him I hated his guts when I called him beautiful last night.”   
“Are you romantically involved with this roommate?” 

“No, no. I mean, he’s pretty attractive, so, like, I’m only human. But, I’m not particularly inept on taking him out to dinner any time soon. He flirts, but after last night I don’t know if maybe he’s uncomfortable with me?” 

“Sounds interesting, can’t wait.” Zayn smiles, standing from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the concrete. Louis shudders at the sound, digging his ear into his shoulder to muffle the noise, “You wanna go now?” 

“Fucking please.” Niall shoves his own chair back. 

“Ok, ok.” Louis raises his hands in defense. “But don’t go in there and turn this into an interrogation, I don’t want to overwhelm him. He’s obviously sensitive about things and I have no idea what those things are.” 

“I’ll stay silent, pretend I’m on my phone, you guys just interact like everything is normal. Then, I’ll ask you to walk me home, and I’ll let you know everything then.” Zayn lays out, calm and steady, which makes this whole process feel easier. It sort of hits Louis that he’s invading Harry’s privacy, but, in all honesty, Zayn is only reading Harry from the outside, what he openly shows people without knowing, so it’s all good, right? 

Right. “Let’s go then.”   
 

 

 

Zayn looks absolutely dumbfounded by the sheer decoration of Louis and Harry’s flat. His eyes are darting around, trying to take in all of the scenery around him. His mouth seems to be a permanent ‘O’ shape. He’s walking around slowly, fingers just barely frisking the oddly shaped vases and frames that cover the tables and counters. The soft and translucent curtains flow along with the breeze coming in through the open window. 

Harry’s nowhere to be found at first, which is somewhat disappointing to say the least. Louis goes to his bedroom door, knuckles hitting the thick wood softly, but there’s no shuffling or movement whatsoever. His curiosity gets the best of him when he creaks it open, just checking to make sure all of his stuff is still there and he didn’t pull a quick one and leave while Louis was gone. But, everything is still there, including his baseball bat, leaning up into the corner. 

When he comes back into the living room, Niall and Zayn have found themselves a seat on the couch, Niall holding one of the fuchsia pillows in his lap. Zayn is still surveying his space, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, “It looks like a fairy tale in here.” 

“Really?” Louis turns his face to hide the heated blush that’s creeping onto his cheeks, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Zayn answers, quietly, the whole room is extremely quiet. Louis presses his lips into a thin line, because he honestly didn’t even think of the possibility that Harry might not even be home. 

They all spend some more time talking over the aspects of Zayn’s psychology course studies, Niall tells a story about how he got stung by a bee on his birthday, and Louis explains what he has in store for his next color arrangement. Apparently, he’s been really feeling this light saffron blue, it matches the color of the sky but it’s little more washed out, not as vibrant, dulled and easier on the eyes. It connects him to nature and makes him feel like he may be floating around instead of trudging in his worn down shoes. He’s choosing between that and a gorgeous mixed and spiritual coral. 

Louis can feel his stomach leap when a very loud and intimidating roar sounds from just outside their window. It starts off distant and progressively gets more intense the closer it becomes. The sound is so vehement he can clearly hear the smooth downshift. It’s a deep growling, though it comes across more full than a car without a muffler. 

“Does someone who lives here drive a motorcycle?” Niall asks. 

“Not that I know of.” Louis answers as the sound shuts off just outside the living room window. They’re all kind of waiting, and with the window open they can hear the person whistling, boots brushing over the cracked concrete of the walkway. For some reason, Louis just knows that it’s Harry, by the way the steps have a wide stride, and how there’s not a ton of people in this flat building and most of them are old. So unless Mr. Walter hit his mid-age crisis at sixty-four, there’s no one else who fits the bill. When the key starts rattling against the lock, it solidifies Louis’ suspicion. 

He takes one good, deep breath, “Harry’s home.” 

Just as the words hit the air the door swings open. Harry, of course, is radiant. All the depth of annoyance on his face from last night is gone. He’s dressed in his casual black jeans, a band shirt and that trusty leather jacket. But his hair is even more unruly, the curls in absolute disarray and the sight doesn’t settle well in Louis’ stomach. His eyes automatically dart to see the bike from where the front door is still open, looking around Harry’s figure to find that something is missing. 

“Where the fuck is your helmet?” Louis’ voice is aimed sharp, and Harry’s eyes go wide in response. He blinks, opens his mouth to speak then shuts it again, averting his eye contact from Louis’ stare. “Hello?” 

“I- uh, I left it back at my dad’s.” He shrugs, but the uncertainty in face is more than obvious, “You’re lying.” Louis states, simple. 

“I don’t have one, okay?” Harry’s brows knit down, shutting the door and heading straight for the kitchen. Louis stands to meet him in there, momentarily forgetting the company that’s joining them on the couch, watching the interaction play out. 

“You’ll die if you wreck, Harry.” 

“Okay? Then I just won’t wreck.” Harry switches the subject before Louis can even process his next thought, “You have guests over?” He eyes the men sitting on the couch. His eyes are way but friendly. 

“Yeah, this is Niall, my best friend.” Niall beams at that, “And this is Zayn, he’s dating my step-brother.” Zayn nods, but adds on, “Your friend as well, I’d still hang around you even if me and Liam weren’t together.”

“Nice to meet you.” Harry says, green eyes flickering over to Louis, then back to whatever he’s looking for in the kitchen cupboards. “Sorry, I was out running errands.” 

“I didn’t know you had a motorcycle.” Louis leans on the counter, head tilted somewhat to the side, “How come you never mentioned that?” 

“Dunno,” Harry shrugs, “want me to take you out on it sometime?” He smiles, more like smirks, which earns a scoff from Louis, “Not until you get us both a helmet. I don’t live dangerously, like you.” 

“Alright, deal.” 

Zayn leans over to Niall and whispers something in his ear which Niall immediately nods to. Louis looks over to Harry, seeing if he caught the exchange, but he’s too interested in trying to open up the pack of cookies to care. Niall walks over to Harry, hand outstretched, “Louis’ told me so much about you,” His tone is friendly, kind, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Harry takes Niall’s hand into his own for a firm shake, “I hope he’s told you good things, I’d hate to have to expose some of his embarrassing moments as payback.” Harry’s tone is equally as kind. Niall takes a step forward landing the opposite hand on Harry’s shoulder for a quick pat, and at the same time Harry shifts onto his left foot, leaning away slightly. When Louis looks over to Zayn, his lips are pursed. He’s not sure what the exchange means, but it’s apparently crucial to reading Harry’s body language. 

Niall doesn’t seem to understand either, just smiling one quick glance before turning his attention to Louis, “Embarrassing stories, huh? Can’t say I’m not intrigued, I need some dirt on you, Tomlinson.”   
“He doesn’t have anything on me, don’t listen to him.” 

“I don’t?” Harry teases, walking to stand closer to Louis, “You don’t.” He confirms, confident in his answer. 

“You know what else I ‘don’t’” Harry asks, voice going just a tad lower, “Fear the reaper.” And the short sentence makes Louis’ eyes go wide, because he’s completely forgotten about the time he was caught red handed bursting out _Blue Oyster Cult_ in his awkwardly short bathrobe. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Try me.” Harry responds automatically. Louis takes a breath, licking over his bottom lip before cocking his head to the side in one jerked motion, “Not sure you’d want that.” 

Louis can see Harry’s cheek indent, signaling him biting the inside before he looks away swiftly, just nodding his head ever-so slightly. Zayn is the first to speak up breaking the new silence, “Why don’t you guys join us in here. Niall isn’t talking, it’s getting lonely.”

Louis laughs at Zayn’s faux-pathetic tone, walking to plop down on the chair adjacent to the couch Niall and Zayn are residing on, “Happy?” 

“Harry?” Zayn calls, Harry’s head snapping up, half a cookie crumbling from his mouth, “Wanna join?” 

“Hm,” Harry hums, unable to open his mouth at risk of losing his food. He just saunters over, taking the seat on the chair across from Louis, sliding his boots off and hooking his feet under his bum. 

“Now that we’re all here,” Niall announces, “time for the questions to start.” 

“I said not to make this an interrogation.” Louis warns, Harry sinks his way into his chair, getting comfortable. 

“It’s not,” Niall looks hurt, “I just want to know more about him, since he is your roommate and all.” Niall’s face is completely innocent, so Louis crosses his ankles, gesturing for Niall to continue. 

“So, Harry, you like living here?” 

“I guess,” He shrugs, playing with the knuckles on his hand. 

“Is Louis annoying?” 

Louis immediately tosses a pillow directly at Niall’s face, causing the back of his head to bounce off the couch, “Hey!” He protests, “It was a serious question!”   
“Answer wisely, Styles, I know where you sleep.” Louis warns, staring daggers into Harry’s eyes. He doesn’t seem to mind, pursing his lips, “He’s not annoying, just a little intimidating.” 

Niall bursts out in laughter, leaning over and Zayn is quick to join him. Louis is surprised to say the least at Harry’s answer. He’s been called a lot of things, intimidating is not one of them. “Me?” 

“Yes, you.” Harry’s states like it's the most obvious thing, “You can pack away a lot of anger, I don’t ever want to get on your bad side, ever again.” 

“Louis’ about as intimidating as a bread roll, Harry.” Zayn chuckles, “He’d have to climb a step ladder just to be able to yell in your face.” He’s laughing so hard, he’s crying. Louis looks at him with a completely deadpan expression. 

“You’re hilarious, ha-ha.” He says in a low, bored voice. Harry laughs along, but makes no move to agree or change his answer. It’s a little odd that Harry finds Louis to be intimidating, especially when he towers over him and could break him in half without trying. Plus, he’s seen Louis directly in the face of fear, and in case he forgot, Louis cowered behind him the whole time. It wasn’t one of Louis’ proudest moments, that’s for sure. 

It takes a good few more minutes before Niall and Zayn stop their obnoxious laughing and short jokes, but when they do, Louis blinks once and they start up again. He just sighs, leaning back into his chair and his expression mimics the classic teacher, ‘I’m waiting’ while he looks directly at them. Harry can’t seem to wipe the smile off of his face, and his dimples are popping out, so incredibly deep. He really is, in the only word Louis can think to describe him, beautiful. His face his structured almost…delicately. With wide eyes and the perfect curvature of obscenely pink lips. He doesn’t seem to fit into the dark clothes he wears, and Louis for some reason really wants to see him dressed in one of his lavender sweaters, it would bring out his complexion. Although it would be kind of small on him, it would still be exceptionally adorable. 

Louis catches a small cough, eyes darting over to meet Zayn’s just in time for him to mouth, “You’re staring.” and Louis has to avert his face away so that his blush isn’t obvious. Harry’s idly playing with a loose piece of fabric on his sock, oblivious to Louis being caught lost in the fascination of his features. He’s gotta be more careful. 

They all continue to talk for a little longer, Zayn keeping quiet as he watches Harry, who doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He’s following along easily with Niall’s stories and coming up with the perfect responses. The way to Niall’s heart is to listen when he rambles on, which Harry does without argument. He’s seemingly a people person, for sure, gets along so comfortably with new people, acts like he’s known them for a while. The fact makes Louis' chest tight, because it’s the kind of person he wants to be, but is too shy to actually even attempt it. Speaking comes so easily to Harry, Louis bets people are attracted to him like a magnet. 

“Louis,” comes Zayn’s voice, breaking him from his thoughts, “Would you mind walking me home? It’s getting late and Liam will probably be making dinner shortly.” 

“Uh, yeah, yeah. Lemme just grab some shoes.” Louis answers, leaving them alone to walk into his room. He finds more comfortable shoes, being as Liam lives a pretty long walk from here and his feet will ache early in. He’s not as fit as he wants to be. He makes a mental note to start going to the gym more often (he probably won’t).

When Louis returns, Harry is saying goodbye to Zayn, and Niall is walking over to grab Louis' attention, “I’m gonna run home real quick, grab my phone charger and some more clothes, then I’ll be back. You still want me to stay over t’night?” 

“Course,” Louis nods, “yeah, I have to walk Zayn home, so we should be back around the same time then.” 

“Sounds good,” Niall raises his voice as he looks over to Harry, “I’ll be back in a few, just going by my place real quick.” Harry gives him a smile of acknowledgment, going back to typing something on his phone. Zayn gives one last wave as they're walking out the door. 

The air outside is cooler than earlier, a bit too brisk and Louis debates going back in to grab a jacket, but, eh, he decides against it. The sky has gone dark, the sun retreating from the city already. Louis hadn’t realized they’d been here so long. But, the conversation just kept flowing and no one really wanted to break from it. Louis’ guessing Zayn’s gotten everything he’s needed, and they wait until they’re a relatively good distance from the flat before saying a word. 

“Think ya got a pretty good reading?” Louis asks, scraping the front of his shoe over the crack separating the concrete. 

“Yeah, and Liam’s going to pick me up, I just said we’re walking to buy some time,” Zayn replies.

“That’s great, because it’s fucking cold out here.” 

“So,” Zayn stops, standing in front of Louis, “You wanna know what I’ve concluded?” 

“Go for it, pal.” Louis ushers him on, sliding his hands into his front pockets. 

“Okay. So, first thing I noticed; when he first walked in, and you demanded to know where his helmet was, his first instinct wasn’t to get defensive. Instead, he told you something he thought you wanted to hear.” Louis nods along, Zayn continues, “He kind of shrunk back a little, eyes going wide, right? So, second thing, I asked Niall to shake his hand, and then step in on him. When he did, Harry averted his weight to his other leg, shifting away from Niall’s forward step, he kind of backed away. Thirdly, he kind of looks over at you when confronted by something that throws off the situation, which he appears to have complete control over, like he's looking for some sort of self assurance in the way you are responding to things. He picks at things, he chews on the inside of his cheek, he does this thing where he rolls his right shoulder and leans into it. It’s an exertion of what he’s feeling, mostly overwhelmed, he did it when you said ‘not sure you’d want that.’ Simply put, he wanted that.” 

“So..” Louis drawls, “What’s your conclusion?”

“He exhibits multiple submissive behavioral traits, but it’s masterfully masked, which means he’s either embarrassed by it or it’s something he’s not outward about just yet. Either way, he has a submissive quality that he doesn’t want anyone to see.” 

“You got that from nervous jitters?” Louis questions, the doubt strong in his tone, “Harry doesn’t come off as submissive to me, especially not when looking at just the nervous ticks.” 

“I’m not taking into account the nervous ticks. I’m taking into account the obvious sexual tension between you two, and how he responds to it,” Zayn shrugs. 

“Sexual tension? What sexual tension?” 

“If you don’t feel that, then you might be completely numb, but I’m not. I think it’s clear as day that Harry has a sexual attraction to you, and he puts off a submissive approach to it.”

Louis runs his hand over his face, trying to ignore the way his face feels hot and his body is burning but it’s cold outside, “You think that’s why he got upset when I said he was beautiful, because that submissive -whatever you said- trait is something he wants hidden? I don’t think being beautiful equates to being a sub.” 

“No, I think there’s something going on there. Maybe the reason why he doesn’t want to portray that part of him, makes me lean into the whole ‘he’s embarrassed’ by it thing, you know?” Zayn takes his bottom lip between his teeth, “He’s hard to read when it comes to that aspect, I’m not sure what his complex is with that kind of compliment.” 

“I don’t know, I- I just don’t know.” 

“Listen, if you want to see for yourself, my advice is to step closer to him and I bet his body will soften, it’s a way of silently allowing you to overpower him despite the size difference, when you kiss him, you’re going to be the one in control, I’ll bet my life on it.”

“Why do you say ‘when’ like its inevitable?” Louis crosses his arms over his chest, squinting his eyes as Liam’s headlights pull in front of them so that Zayn can hop in. 

Zayn walks over to the passenger door, pausing briefly to look back at Louis, “You’re forgetting that I can read you, too.” He winks, before disappearing into the car. Louis reverts back to being ten years old and rolls his eyes at Liam, turning to walk away without a word to him, he’s still annoyed. 

Even after the car is gone, Louis stands there still trying to take in all the information Zayn has given him. He just wanted to know what the hell goes on inside of Harry’s complicated head, but instead he got intel on Harry’s sexual preference along with the fact that there is a tension between them, one that’s apparently pretty obvious. He’s not going to pretend like it’s not extremely fucking hot to know this about his new roommate, and if Harry’s feeling an attraction to Louis, he wants to experiment with that. So, he’s going to. 

Suddenly, having a roommate sounds a lot more appealing. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louis proves that no one can out-sass him.

The near frigid draft is whispering around, gentle but persistent on Louis’ hands, face and neck. Any previous trace of the toasty sun is now completely vanished, leaving behind an unforgiving dark. Louis, right now, at this very moment, is pacing back and forth on the sidewalk just outside the flat, and hating himself for it. The time has continued to tick by since Zayn had left with Liam, and Louis’ brain has done nothing but echo his words, over and over, and now Louis can almost hear Zayn’s voice, crystal clear. 

He wants to, in all honestly, take this entire thing lightly. He wants this fun, hot little secret to be something he can walk right in and experiment with. He wants to walk over to Harry with a hard chest, watch as all of Harry’s muscles relax and go weak, shrinking back because he’s allowing the overpowering presence, a silent plea of permission and almost desire because in Zayn’s words, ‘he wants it.’ And Louis would just adore watching his body squirm beneath him. 

But, there’s always a _but._

He’s always been the type to think more into things and make them about two-thousand feet deeper than they need to be. There has to be a reason that this whole submissive thing is something Harry has hidden, either because he’s ashamed or embarrassed and that fact is causing Louis’ stomach to flip around in disgusting ways. Because he knows just as well as anyone that you begin to doubt yourself and want to change when you’re under the impression that you should. Which, ultimately, leads Louis to believe someone has told Harry that, in the past, being that way was.. wrong. 

He really just wants more answers now. He wants to pry because it’s always been one of those habits he hasn’t yet lost, and he’ll admit that. He’s nosey, but really only when it’s something he’s really interested in. He’s not going to sit here and lie to himself, say that his (very) attractive roommate, who comes off as cocky, who actually has this submissive side he doesn’t want anyone to see, isn’t the most interesting thing going on in his life right now. 

Louis’ not sure how to approach the situation, especially when dealing with someone’s insecurity or secret. Would it be intrusive to just straight up ask him? Would it make Harry feel cornered? He truthfully doesn’t have to tell Louis anything, so it might not be very productive. According to the previous encounters with Harry, if he hears something he doesn’t like or something that kind of hits him the wrong way, he tends to shut down and Louis can’t have that, not when he’s living with him, that’s just awkward. So, the next best thing would be to pretend he has no idea, use that to his own advantage and try to weasel it out of Harry. Make him see that there isn’t anything wrong, encourage the submissive behavior. But, how’s that possible when Louis’ bones have this habit of turning to jello when Harry holds the eye contact longer than a few seconds? 

He hasn’t quite decided how to handle this new information, but he’s glad that Zayn told him. It brings more insight into Harry’s personality. It explains why, when Harry left him at the grocery instead of picking him up like he had said, he recoiled and lost any fight that he had in him as soon as Louis exploded. It explains Harry’s resistance to confrontation. What it doesn’t explain, is why Harry was so ready to blunder someone with a baseball bat for loitering outside of Louis’ window, everything about that night screamed “dominant,” but of course you can’t always judge someone based on their protective instinct. It’s all very confusing. 

The whole situation has Louis' mind spinning and his thoughts a speeded blur that doesn't seem to connect at any point. He doesn’t handle stress well, so it makes him want to throw himself into the dewy grass lawn and just lay there, get lost in the stars and pretend he’s not letting himself get tied up in this whole thing. He wants to stare ahead, breathe in the cool air even though it’s bitterly cold in his lungs, clear the palette, and at the same time he wants to pry further into Harry’s past. He wants everything and nothing all at the same time. 

He opts to take a seat on the frozen concrete instead. 

It’s so cold that it’s making his bum go numb but he can’t bring himself to care. He might catch pneumonia out here without a jacket, but he’s giving himself a few more minutes to recompose and put on a face that says, ‘no, I didn’t just find out something about you that you like to keep hidden. And no, I’m not going to use it to my advantage to get to know you more.’ He’s always been awful at lying. But, if reading the full exposé on Harry’s backstory is even close to a possibility, Harry can’t know his intentions. And Louis feels awful, but he’s too curious and it’ll drive him crazy not to know, why is Harry ashamed of this?

An obnoxious vibration breaks his thought and Louis sighs, reaching into his back pocket to grab his cell. It’s only when he sees his father’s number does he feel the way he’s instantly nauseous, this timing couldn’t have been any worst. Nonetheless, he slides to answer, pulling the speaker to his ear and hoping his voice is strong and uncaring, “Hello, dad.” 

“Louis, how are you, son?” 

“Addressing me as your son, eh? Guess you forgot you were embarrassed by me.” Louis responds, bitter and distant, sarcasm so strong he can taste it in the thin air. 

“Please, don’t start.” His father sighs, tired. Louis doesn’t care. “I was going to ask you something, but I need you to listen instead of trying to make digs at me, okay?” 

“Shoot.” 

“My company is hosting a dinner, all the workers and their families will be there. I want you and Liam to attend with me.”  


“I’d rather die, honestly.” Louis stands, walking back to the flat because the air is suddenly too cold and it’s raising goosebumps all over his arms. 

“It’s not really a choice, Louis. You need to be there, it’s already known that you and Liam are my sons, if I had the option to only bring Liam along, I would.” 

“Of course you would. Only bring your golden boy so your work doesn’t know what a failure you’ve raised, am I right?” Louis’ voice is accusing and rough, no hint of sincerity, never an occurrence when he’s talking to his father. 

“It’s not that. Liam is just more formal and composed.” 

“You mean- Liam will kiss the ass of all your executives and play ‘pretty and perfect’ for your squeaky clean image? He doesn’t run his mouth with loads of quick back handed comments, and he won’t care when old, crusty men look down on him?” 

“Exactly.” 

“You can fuck off, I decline your shitty invitation.” 

“Watch your mouth, have you no respect?” Offense is dripping in every word; it makes Louis smile. 

“I’ll respect you when you act like a real father to me.” 

There’s a pause of the other side of the phone, and Louis can hear a sharp breath exhaled over the speaker, “Listen, I already told you, this isn’t optional, I need you there. I know you need things from me too, don’t forget I can always revoke or withdrawal the help you’ve received from me.”

“You’re blackmailing me with my own roommate? Wow, you really are pathetic, congratulations.” Louis replies, the heat in his stomach building and threatening to overflow, he’s desperately trying to keep his frustration under control but he’s not doing a very good job at it. 

“I’ll send Liam to pick you up at five tomorrow, the dinner starts around five thirty. Could you be ready by then? Liam will lend you a suit, I know that you probably can’t afford one.” 

“I have one,” Louis spits, and that’s a complete lie. “And you’re lucky you have leverage to make me go, or you can bet your ass I wouldn’t show up within a hundred feet of you.” 

“Lovely, well tomorrow night it is then?” 

The leaves crunching from his left catches his full attention, eyes darting to the tall, curly haired figure hesitantly stepping closer. His face is already blooming a faint pink all over his cheeks and the tip of his nose, probably from the cold. He’s all bundled in a coat and a thick scarf. Louis blinks, cocking his head to the side as if to silently question why the hell Harry is out here. Harry just gives a small smile, stopping a few inches from Louis, waiting.

“Whatever, fine.” 

Louis clicks the button to end the call, taking a breath to recompose before turning towards Harry, “What t’hell are you doing out here, it’s fucking freezing.” 

Harry shrugs, “You were taking a bit long to come home, thought I’d see if you were getting close. I heard your voice, kinda faint, coming from this direction, so.” 

Louis nods, biting his lower lip and trying to hide the obvious smile that’s breaking over his lips, “In other words, you were worried about me. Were you, Harry Styles?” 

Harry just rolls his eyes, snorting out a small laugh before raising his right arm, showing Louis a bundled jacket clutched in his hand, and Louis can’t help but feel the way his heart swells just the tiniest amount, “I saw you left without one, I know its pretty frigid out here, wouldn’t want you to get sick, eh?”

“Is that your leather jacket?” 

“Yeah, it’s actually pretty warm, it might be a little big on you but I figured that would only make it warmer. You don’t have to-“ Harry begins, but Louis jerks the jacket from his hand, quickly slipping over his exposed arms. The warmth makes him shudder, it smells like Harry. 

“Thank you.” Louis nudges Harry’s shoulder with his own, undefeated smile on full display which Harry mirrors, those dimples popping out on both pink-tinged cheeks. He looks the opposite of ‘trouble’ or ‘dangerous,’ he looks adorable. 

“I, uh,” Harry coughs, looking to the concrete and tapping the toe of his shoe. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, but, I heard that you sounded pretty upset. Are you- are you, like, okay?” 

“I’ll tell you about it once we get inside, because it’s probably not wise to hang around in the freezing cold, having a conversation when we have a perfectly good flat to go home to, right?” 

“After you,” Harry motions, watching as Louis walks by and shoves his hand into the pockets of this huge leather jacket. The sleeves are absurdly long, and the hem falls mid thigh on Louis but he can’t help but love it. Love the thought behind it, love the smell, and love the fact that it’s Harry’s favorite and he let Louis wear it. 

The walk back is pretty short but mostly quiet. He can see each puff of air that escapes Harry’s lips because of the low temperature. He remembers back when he was younger and his mum had told him that those small foggy breaths are what rises up into the sky and creates the thick white clouds. She’d say that all those clouds were made up of laughs, stories, everything. And when Louis would ask, “what about if it’s not cold out?” She’d say, “it’s always cold somewhere on the earth, isn’t it, love?” 

So, whenever it was cold out, he’d go outside and say the names of everyone he loved, hoping it was enough for him to make his own cloud, and he’d see it pass over one day, and he’d recognize it. Of course, he knows now that clouds are just condensed water thanks to the water cycle (middle school ruined his dreams) but the thought is still beautiful. 

When the door of the flat finally opens, Louis is the first to rush inside, going to his lighter before realizing, “You lit the candles?” 

“Yeah,” Harry shrugs off his coat, “I liked the smell, is that okay?” 

“It’s fine, I just, I don’t know.” 

“Tell me.” 

“It’s nothing, I just figured I was the only one who lit so many candles, you have them all lit right now.” Louis breathes in, letting the mixture of the scents fill his nose. It’s a sweet combination twisted with the smell of Harry that lingers strong on his jacket and Louis loves it even more. 

“Mhm,” Harry hums, sauntering into the kitchen, the dishes clank loudly as he pulls out the kettle, “You wanna tell me what that phone call was all about, and I’ll make us some tea?” 

Louis huffs out a thick sigh, taking a seat on the bar stool across from where Harry is standing at the stove. “I mean, it’s just family stuff, y’know? Just m’dad, he’s kind of an asshole.” 

“What’d he say?” 

“He wants me to go to this stupid dinner, just me and Liam, because its like a family dinner or some shit like that. He already told me it was pretty much mandatory, that’s the only reason he even wants me there.” 

“You think that, or he said that?” 

“He said that, and I would’ve known anyway, he’s always embarrassed of me.” Louis shrugs, pretends like it doesn’t hurt every time he says the words aloud. He hopes that he can keep his voice even, his face neutral.  


“Why the hell would anyone be embarrassed of you, Louis?” Harry asks, not meeting Louis’ eyes as he adjusts the temperature on the stove. He’s purposefully avoiding making eye contact, Louis can tell. And it makes him bite his inner cheek because that just means the emotion is obvious on his face. 

“Because I’m not Liam.” Louis laughs without humor, “I wasn’t good in school, didn’t make the best grades. I was too focused on art and painting and he thinks that’s childish of me. He hates it, he’s embarrassed I don’t fit in academically. It’s never been something I can change, though, I’ve always been this way.” 

Harry’s head tilts to the left, his eyes widening as he finally looks over at Louis. “Being an artist isn’t childish, not by any means. You like pretty colors, you like flowers, you like scents and there’s nothing wrong with that, Louis. It makes you who you are. I think it’s amazing.” 

“How did you know, about the flowers?” 

“Niall told me it was your favorite thing to paint, why?” 

“Oh,” Louis blinks, “I must’ve missed that part of the conversation.” 

“Well, don’t ever be ashamed of who you are, you’ll only wish you hadn’t.” Harry says and his voice is soft and light, but at the same time its weighted down under a thousand pounds and it hits Louis. It hits him that, yes, Harry is ashamed of who he was before he put on this front and tried hiding behind it. Just as Louis is about to open his mouth to respond, there’s a loud knock at the door that makes both Harry and Louis jump. 

“That’s probably Niall.” Louis murmurs and Harry nods, pulling down a third cup. Louis’ half annoyed that Niall interrupted the conversation, but he’s also the tiniest bit appreciative, because Louis’ not sure exactly what was about to come out of his mouth after what Harry had said. All he knows is that the small sentence made his heart drop to his shoes, leaking from the soles. 

Louis swings open the door, welcoming Niall with a bright smile. He’s standing there with a bag, phone charger in his hand, “Miss me, did’ya?” 

“You wish.” 

“Zayn called, wanted to make sure I got home okay, weird lad, he is.” Niall slips his shoes off, flopping down on the couch, “Said something about you and Liam going to some dinner tomorrow?” 

“How did a call to make sure you got home okay turn into a conversation about my plans tomorrow?” Louis rolls his eyes, avoids the question as he goes into the kitchen, grabbing the heated mug of tea Harry had prepared.  


“Well, he actually wanted to ask me if I had a suit. Liam had spoke to your dad, said dinner was a go, but Liam knew you didn’t have one for the occasion, even though you told your dad that you did.” 

“I’ll get one, it’s not his business.” 

Harry stops mid-sip from his mug, brows knit as he turns his attention to Louis. “Why’d you say you did?” Harry asks, but its low enough to keep it just between he and Louis. “It’s nothing.” Louis whispers back, accompanied by a nod from Harry. 

“I’m gonna finish this in my room,” Harry says louder, “it was nice to see you again, Niall.” Harry looks over to Louis, lowering his voice once more, “Goodnight, love.” 

Louis wants to tell him to wait, to join them a little longer but his voice doesn’t seem to be working for some reason. His eyes follow Harry to his room, letting out a small “G’night” that he probably didn’t even hear. 

And then it was just Louis and Niall. They both kind of linger in a silence while Niall checks his phone, finger’s padding away at the screen as he types. 

“Seems nice.” Niall speaks up, not looking away from his cell. Louis nods, agreeing as he slides his empty mug into the sink. He’s not sure why Harry stalked off so quickly. Usually he won’t unless he’s uncomfortable with something (like when Louis called him beautiful, he shudders at the memory) The conversation had taken a deep turn, and maybe Harry had said all he wanted to say for tonight. 

Louis and Niall decide to relocate to Louis’ room, but not before Louis chucks Niall’s shoe at his head for tracking in mud. Niall makes fun of Louis for his over-abundance of candles, which Louis effectively ignores. The rest of the night is light and humorous thanks to Niall. It’s impossible to be down when you’re with the guy, which is one of Louis' favorite things about him. They avoid any more conversation about Harry, mostly watching movies and judging the awful acting, all while trying to be as quiet as possible so they aren’t obnoxious. 

Niall ends up falling asleep draped over the top of Louis, snoring loudly, and Louis can’t bring himself to throw him off. Instead, he’s just laughing and trying to get comfortable. It takes a long time before Louis can finally start to get sleepy, but his mind hasn’t derailed from what Harry had said earlier and every time he repeats it in his head, his jaw locks. 

Don’t ever be ashamed of who you are, you’ll only wish you hadn’t.

The blades of the fan are causing a whooshing noise, so he chooses to focus on that instead. He closes his eyes, lets his mind drift off and disconnect. Niall will likely be gone by the time he wakes up, he has to get to class pretty early, but Louis doesn’t mind, he’s more than used to waking up alone. At least then he won’t have a snoring Irish blanket stacked on top of him.  


After what feels like hours, Louis can feel himself slipping into sleep. 

 

****

 

The morning sun lands directly over Louis’ eyes, making it impossible to actually fall back asleep. Even though he’s awake, he lays there a bit longer. He finds serenity in the way his blanket feels light on his skin, the way his head is perfectly positioned on the cool pillow. The bed is empty apart from his own body, Niall probably sneaking out around eight this morning. The whole room looks gentle, all soft edges as the morning lulls everything from the sharp of the afternoon sun. 

His bones pop as he sits up, against his own will but he’s craving coffee and it’s enough to draw him out of his comfortable bed. The hardwood is always so cold in the mornings but it jolts Louis’ awake a bit more when his bare feet flatten out on top of it. He drags, doesn’t walk, all the way to his bathroom, pulling the fuzzy robe from the holder and draping it on. Harry’s leather jacket is laid on the other end of the bed, Louis forgetting he even had it on until he was ready to crawl under the covers. Luckily, Niall never brought it up, but that didn’t stop his eyes from scanning over it and a small smile playing on his lips. 

The flat is dead silent apart from the blades of the fan cutting into the stagnant air. Louis glances at his clock, noting that it’s already eleven, so Harry’s likely not still sleeping, which means he probably isn’t here. Louis does admit that it’s a little disappointing. 

The coffee pot beckons him, so he listens as he tightens the rope around his waist, opening the door to his bedroom. His earlier thoughts are confirmed when Harry’s door is open, room dark, and the living room is void of his presence. It’s nice to wake up to a calm quiet, but sometimes it’s also nice just to have someone to say ‘good morning’ to, so Louis deflates a bit. Hopefully, the sweet smell of hazelnut will brighten his mood. 

As the water is running through the coffee grounds, Louis pulls down a mug and the sugar dish, taking notice of the small, folded piece of paper that’s laid neatly atop of the counter. Louis’ name is scribbled across the front, in this neat-slash-sloppy handwriting. He slides it over, brows knit as he unfolds it. A small, thin card falls out. Louis picks it up, eyeing it before realizing it’s Harry’s credit card. He lays it back down on the counter and continues to read the short note that’s written inside. 

_Louis,_  
_If you’re wondering where I am, I’m at my sister’s visiting for while, probably won’t be home till after you’re gone for dinner. Though, I did leave my card for you. I want to buy you that suit, the one you need for tonight. If you don’t, I’ll be offended, so. Take it as my formal apology for the grocery store mishap, yeah? Good luck with everything tonight, hope it goes well. And by the way, I get statements on my phone, so don’t go buying a new house or anything. H_

Louis doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he’s finished reading the letter, picking up the card and holding it between his fingers. It’s probably, not probably, definitely the sweetest things anyone has ever done for him and Louis can feel his whole body tingling. Now he’s overly excited to get ready for tonight, his heart swollen and beating too fast in his chest. He’s going to have a few cups of coffee, a long and extremely hot shower, and then he’s going to buy himself a suit and then leave Harry a note. 

Once he’s finished everything on his list, he grabs a piece of notebook paper. Steadying the pen in his fingers as he writes out the letter, his handwriting is more of a formal cursive, but it's a little wobbly because of how fast he’s writing. 

_Thank you for the new suit, I hope Armani is good? Kidding, kidding, but maybe not. I’ll see you tonight, if I don’t take a flying leap over a cliff first, obviously. Usually, you can’t buy my forgiveness, but this was a sweet thought, so it worked this time, congratulations. By the way, your handwriting is atrocious. L_

His handwriting actually isn’t bad, but Louis’ gonna put that anyway just to get under Harry’s skin. He tucks away the card in his pocket, pulling up suit shops all over London that are within walking distance, and struts out the door, hoping he keeps this light mood all day. 

 

*****

 

Okay, so this place is absolutely stunning, it looks like it was pulled directly from sophisticated-anonymous or some shit like that. Louis finally decided on a light gray suit, fitting him perfectly and he admits he looks like a well-polished gentleman (at least he will until he opens his mouth). Liam arrived to the flat at five on the dot, eyes wide and face in full shock when Louis had stepped out, looking a million times better than Liam and loving every second of it. 

There are chandeliers everywhere, gold accessories and marble flooring. It looks like a museum, as if Louis touches something his fingerprints will disintegrate it into nothing, like everything is too precious for human contact. There are tables full of a vast variety of alcohol, wine glasses displayed in an intricate pattern, a full fountain sprinkling water from a Greek stature in the middle of the floor. To say that he feels out of place would be an understatement, but he keeps his head held high, nose up, body rigid.  


Every one is dressed in suits and fancy cocktail dresses and the place smells like expensive perfume and money.

The sound of heels connecting with the expensive marble tiles is loud and annoying, Louis much preferring a pair of sneakers and some crumbled concrete. His dad is popping out from an especially uptight group of people, Louis can tell by the way their noses sneer up at Liam’s last-year shoes. Louis debates saying something to them, but chooses not to, only because it isn’t worth his time. 

“Louis, Liam, you both look very nice.” His dad puts on a smile, the wrinkles beside his eyes coming into view, Louis’ face remains neutral. 

“Thank you.” Liam smiles and Louis rolls his eyes, “When’s dinner starting?” He blurts out, taking a glass of champagne from the waiter walking by with a tray. 

“Always a delight, Louis.” The sarcasm drips from every syllable, his father’s eyes giving him a silent warning, which Louis ignores whole-heartedly. When his father is sure Louis isn’t going to reply, he continues, more annoyed, “You can have a seat with the other lads, over there,” He points to a table, mostly everyone around Louis and Liam’s age. 

Louis nods, taking down the rest of his champagne and handing his father the empty glass, “Cool, see you around.”

“Hey,” His dad hisses between clenched teeth, “be professional, these people aren’t like your trashy friends, you got it?” 

“The only difference between my friends and these people are that my friends are actually enjoyable to be around.” Louis replies, voice just as venomous, “And I’ll act the way I fucking want to, I don’t even want to be here.” He finishes, walking away to leave his father with his mouth hanging wide open. 

These fancy shoes are too tight on his feet and now he’s irritated, tempted to walk right out the door and not look back. The only reason he isn’t is because Harry just bought him this suit and he’s going to wear it, even if it kills him. The other lads don’t even blink when Louis takes a seat, continuing on their conversation like he was invisible. Liam is still standing next to his dad, likely trying to calm him down from the pissed state Louis had left him in. Good. 

Plates are laid out with fancy as fuck silverware. To be honest, he has no idea which is the soup spoon or whatever they call it, and he wishes he cared even slightly, but he doesn’t. He pulls out his phone, sending a message to Niall about how much he already hates this whole dinner, before sliding it back in and joining into the conversation going on around the table. 

There’s a boy with slick back, silver blonde hair, his eyes brows are perfectly plucked and his suit tightly tailored, he looks and talks like an asshole. But, everyone around the table seems to love him, listening intently on his stories, “So, I tell the guy, having the cheapest model Rolex is just as bad as having a dollar store one, so don’t act like you’re one of us.” Everyone around laughs, and Louis scrunches his face, what the fuck? 

“Hilarious, why even try?” A kid with red-hair chimes in. “Royce, you have no filter.”

So, Royce is the blonde kid’s name, interesting enough. They still haven’t acknowledged Louis’ presence, and the waiters are coming around with the first course of the meal. Louis’ not phased, picking up whichever fork his hands finds first to dig in. It’s a teriyaki salmon filet, a bit over cooked and mediocre, but Louis downs it anyway, he’s practically starving. Rich restaurant with basic cooking, Louis’ surprised it’s not marinated in gold, it probably costs as much.

“Can’t help but notice we’re missing a certain person, bet that’s good, eh Royce?” A boy utters from across the table, Louis can smell his overpowering cologne from here. 

“Yeah, I was hoping tonight wouldn’t turn into an awkward encounter, guess my prayers were answered.” Royce shrugs, “Though I was sure it was mandatory for all immediate kin to be here for the company dinner.” 

“Yeah,” Another brunette speaks up, who looks like he’s permanently chewing on something sour, “When has Harry ever came to one of these? Can’t say I wasn’t expecting his absence.”

Louis feels his throat dry out, speaking up for the first time, “Harry who?” 

All four boys seated with them look at Louis, and he sets his fork down, raising his brows, “Well, did’ya forget how to talk all of a sudden?” 

It’s now that all attention is on him does Louis realize Liam isn’t sitting with them, instead taking a chair right next to their dad, shaking the hands of all the executives sitting at the main table. Louis laughs to himself, of course. 

“Styles, he’s my ex-boyfriend, and you care why?” Royce speaks up, squinting his eyes at Louis.

“Oh, well he’s my roommate,” Louis states simply, “never said anything about coming tonight.” 

“Probably because he new Royce would be here.” Sour-face snorts, even his laugh is annoying. 

“Why would that matter?” 

Royce sets his fork down, “Don’t know why I’m telling you this, but since you asked, I’m pretty sure I broke his fragile little heart a few years ago.” He says, like it’s nothing.

“Why?” Louis disguises his voice, pretending to be neutral on the subject. Inside, his stomach is squeezing, and it’s really fucking hot in here now. 

“He was weak, was a good lay, but that’s pretty much it. He got annoying with all of his stupid attachment issues, wore sweaters that were too big and like, girly, or something. Told me he loved me one day,” The whole table tries to hide their giggles, “which, honestly, I told him that he was stupid for not seeing what this was. I said, ‘you’re a good fuck, kid, but you need to grow up, stop being such a little girl.’ Haven’t seen him around since.” 

Something inside Louis snaps, and he can feel his hands start to shake from under the table. The other boys chime on at Harry’s expense, making jokes about how easy he was to manipulate, one voice standing out when they said, “I heard he just sleeps around with like, four other guys now, it’s pathetic.” 

“Of course it’s pathetic,” Royce sneers, “it's Harry, he actually like to be called ‘princess,’ for fucks sake. Everything about the kid is weird.” 

“You know,” Louis says, breaking the mockery from around the table. He stands, slamming down his glass on the table with a loud clank. “The only ‘pathetic’ thing about Harry, is that he actually dated someone as slimy as you. And, might I add, you should fire your stylist, because that shade of blue looks cheap.”

“This suit costs over three thousand dollars, you twat.” 

“Well, that’s three thousand dollars you shouldn’t have spent.” Louis smiles sweetly, “And Harry probably didn’t come because it would be a step down to actually come here and pretend you guys are anything more than spoiled fuckwads who’re only relevant because their mommies and daddies make good money. You can take your brand new Rolex watch and shove it right up your ass, with the rest of your ego.” 

The entire room has fallen silent, mouths agape as Louis fixes the jacket of his suit, straightening out his burgundy tie, “You guys enjoy the rest of your dinner.” 

And even as Louis’ walking out, his anger is still bubbling and making it hard to see because now he knows why Harry has changed himself, started pretending to be something he wasn’t. And it was all because someone had ripped his heart out and shat on his existence, made him feel unimportant and like he wasn’t good enough. He has no way to get home, but he doesn’t give a single fuck, he just doesn’t want to be here for one second longer. 

Once he’s outside, he unclenches his jaw, pulling his phone from his pocket and dials Harry’s number. He answers on the first ring.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis loses his patience, Harry loses his balance.

He’s never felt more empowered as he did walking out of that damn building without looking back. He can’t seem to shake the disgusting words from his head, hearing them over and over again, taunting him. He can truthfully say he’s never felt so much hatred towards someone he doesn’t even know, but in his head he’s justified it. He was expecting this night to end in flames, he really was, but he wasn’t expecting this. He was waiting for snide remarks from his father, possibly from Liam, and every other tight-ass that attended. He was just going to down some alcohol, though he’s not even a drinker, and hope it was enough to make their voices a blur so that he could ignore them altogether. 

Instead, he got a blast from Harry’s past in the form of a flashy and arrogant snake. 

He could’ve easily walked out without a word, they don’t deserve an explanation, but he wouldn’t have forgiven himself if he hadn’t at least been an asshole with demeaning remarks to throw Royce right off his fucking high horse. And he feels pretty great about it, actually. 

Waiting for Harry to show up is the longest ten minutes of Louis’ life. And he’s not going to pretend that he’s not half expecting Harry to not show up, having a déjà vu of the grocery shopping trip from hell. Outside, it’s freezing fucking cold and Louis tucks his hands away into the pockets of his pants, chewing on the insides of his cheeks to distract himself from the way the air seems to be crawling all over his face and peeling away any warmth he has lingering around. He can see his breath, he can see the little clouds forming from the professed anger that stays attached to the insides of his lungs. 

Cars roll by every once in a while, rubber tires crackling on the perfectly pressed pavement and Louis makes a realization. He’s never been the type to fancy luxuries such as this place, everything being gold and shiny and marble floors, makes everything seem so uninviting and.. stale? Is that the word? His father’s house is just like this, pristine and unwelcoming, breakable things all over the tables, counters and walls. Hell, the teal blue vase in the living room probably costs more than a house, what’s the point of that? It’s a fucking vase. 

He wants to be successful, he wants to be able to afford stuff that he likes but he has no immediate desire to live in a museum, where you’re scared to touch anything fearing your fingerprints will ruin the pure beauty. All he wants is to be able to survive without worrying about money, not this, not the way his dad lives and not the way Liam wants to, it makes him sneer, the action hurting his dry face. 

He can almost hear the chaos from inside over his abrupt dismissal. He hopes that his words are going to echo inside of Royce’s head, he hopes that it takes his ego and smothers it completely, withers him. But, unfortunately, words never seem to penetrate anything when it comes to stubborn and entitled pricks, he knows first hand after endless arguments with his own father.

They’re too caught up thinking they’re on top of the world and nothing can touch them, bring them down. They don’t realize that no one is below them, they’re not better than everyone else.  

“Louis,” Liam’s voice flows through the thin air with all the grace of a broken-legged gazelle, “what the fuck was all that about, huh? Are you trying to embarrass us?” 

“I have no desire to embarrass you, Liam, because I simply don’t care.” 

“This is why dad never invites you anywhere, you know that? Because you can’t control yourself, you don’t know how to be reserved and respectful.” 

The sentence is enough to stir Louis’ stomach into a churning mess of annoyance, he clenches his fist as much as he can in the pockets of his pants, “Is that what you call _respectful?_ Them? That’s how you want me to portray myself? They’re all stuck up assholes. They sit there and talk about fucking someone and then degrading them, making fun of them. You expect me to sit there and listen to that?” 

“I expect you to keep your comments to yourself.” 

“Yeah,” Louis scoffs, humorlessly, “your expectations are too high then.” 

The silence that falls between them is deafening, it’s uncomfortable and thick and neither of them make a move to break it. Louis can see Liam pacing from the corner of his eye and he can’t bring himself to care that he’s upset. He keeps his main focus on the road, waiting for Harry to show up, which should be any minute now. Louis’ at least thankful that it was Liam that came out here to scold him and not his father, or fists would’ve been thrown, probably, Louis’ patience is long gone. 

When Harry’s car comes into view, Louis can feel relief wash over his frozen body, immediately shifting from his right foot to his left in anticipation, he wants out of this fucking situation. He wants to be far away from Liam, his dad, and the pretentious fucks sitting at that table. 

As soon as Harry’s car pulls to the curb, Louis throws Liam a smug smile, “Well, as much as I’d love to stay and bask in each other’s anger, my ride is here.”

“You’ve disappointed us, Louis.” 

“Yeah? Send me a postcard from where you’re residing up dad’s asshole, alright? I’m sure the view is splendid.” Is the last thing Louis says before jerking the door of the car open, the rush of warm air raising goosebumps all over his body. 

Liam is still staring daggers at him through the window when Harry finally takes off. The car is quiet, no radio, just the sound of the heat blowing from the vents. It’s a different atmosphere, a thicker, heavier one than it was with Liam, which surprises Louis, to say the least. His mouth is aching to open, to say something but his jaw is locked shut by the concentrated stare of Harry’s eyes on the road. His face is set like stone, emotionless and Louis can feel himself staring, deciphering. 

It smells like mint, mixed with aged leather and deep thought. 

Louis tries to look out of the window, refocusing on the blurred trees passing for a total of three-seconds before he accepts that he can’t. He can’t stay silent, he can’t let this go. “ What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Its short, its dripping with an emotion that’s stinging Louis in a harsh, bitter way. 

That answer isn’t good enough, and Louis’ never been any good at knowing when to stop, “I know why you didn’t come here tonight, and I think that you knew I’d figure it out.” 

Harry stays quiet, his breathing is deep, chest heaving with the attempt of calming him down, Louis can tell it isn’t working but he pushes on, “He’s an ass, Harry, you shouldn’t have changed for him, you shouldn’t change for anyone.”

Silence.

“There’s nothing wrong with who you are, what you like, what you wear, do you understand me? I’m trying to help you, I wish you would fucking talk to me.” 

When Harry doesn’t reply again, Louis feels the last ounce of patience he had snap in two. His whole body is flooded with anger and heat, his hands tingling and his muscles clenching. “You’re giving me the silent treatment now, kid?” 

“Stop calling me ‘kid,’"

“Stop acting like one.” 

“What do you want me to say, Louis? That I’m sorry? Sorry for what? That you’re right? I think that goes without saying. I didn’t change for him, I changed for me. Because I didn’t like who I was, I knew it wasn’t really me, it had nothing to do with Royce.” 

“You’re telling me that you want to pretend you’re someone else because that’s what _you_ want? And that it had nothing to do with the fact that someone broke your heart, used you and degraded you?” 

“It was my choice, it was what I wanted.” 

The car is too hot now, it’s sweltering and the space is too small. Louis is so agitated, because he doesn’t understand. He can’t grasp why Harry would want to change the way he was, all on his own accord and how that just doesn’t fit with the analysis Zayn had come up with. Those small traits of Harry, they were hidden with an undertone of embarrassment, of being ashamed, not something Harry would be proud of. 

If Harry’s truthful, he actually did want to be a different person, change his attitude and the way he dressed, the way he acted and the way he portrayed himself, Louis could accept that. He could go with it, learn to understand where Harry is coming from. But it’s the hesitation in Harry’s words, the way his phrases are tight and forced, it seems rehearsed, like he had been waiting for the moment his lips could mold around the letters and let them out. It all seems fake and it doesn’t sit well with Louis. 

“Ok,” Is what Louis decides to say, and it doesn’t relieve the pressure between him and Harry, because neither of them are being sincere, not even a little bit. 

It doesn’t take long before they’ve arrived back at the flat, and Harry throws the car into park with enough force to move the entire vehicle. And Louis opens his door with the same amount of anger, both of their feet pounding heavily onto the concrete sidewalk and Louis’ eyes are pinned to the back of Harry’s leather jacket and now he hates what it represents, he wants it to burn, he wants to see Harry wearing those sweaters he used to love. 

And Harry’s shoulders are squared and tight because he knows that Louis isn’t letting this go. 

Which is exactly right. So, Louis’ letting the anger build up, he’s letting his heart rate speed and his hands shake and his teeth clench. He’s working himself up because if he doesn’t, he won’t have the drive to do what he’s about to do. Harry’s key is pushed into the lock, turning it with a harsh jerk and the door is flung open. 

Louis knows precisely what Harry’s going to do, run away to his bedroom and lock himself in it, refusing to continue any conversation and then he’ll come out tomorrow pretending like nothing happened and all is well. It’s happened one too many times, and it always leaves Louis confused and unsatisfied. But, no. No, Louis’ not going to let that happen, not tonight. 

Right as Harry goes to step towards his room, Louis’ hand shoots out, fingers clenching tightly around the leather fabric at the back of his jacket, pulling him back. The action stuns Harry out of step, taking away his balance, which Louis uses to thrust him directly up against the wall. 

Harry’s eyes are wild, in shock and pupils blown, he’s pinned up, Louis’ body holding him in place with complete force as Louis leans his lips down, hovering inches from Harry’s, his voice a heated whisper, “I’ll stop, just tell me when, and I will.” 

Harry’s breath blows over Louis’ features, but his words are nonexistent, and Louis takes Harry’s hands, locking them in place against the wall. It’s as rough as it is gentle, calculated. Louis’ intentions are clear, not to pressure Harry into anything, not to force anything, but to see his reactions. And he notes the way Harry’s body is rolling to be closer to his, the way he’s shrinking down to make himself look shorter, the way his eyes are wide and his face his getting laced with a blood rush. 

“You want to tell me again, about how you don’t like this?” Louis’ voice is still low, redirecting Harry to be pressed against the counter. Their eyes remain locked, bodies close. “To be over powered, to lose control, you don’t like this?” Harry blinks, a small break of his voice coming out in a light whimper, lips parting. 

Louis’ hand goes to Harry’s hip, fingers pressing into the skin, drawing him in closer. Harry’s breathing is ricocheting off Louis’ face, fast and deep and his eyes flicker till they're closed, his head falling back slightly. “Is that why you’re panting? Why your whole body is limp? Why you’re getting harder and harder with every press,” Louis’ fingers dig deeper into Harry’s waist, earning a deeper moan from deep in Harry’s chest, “of my fingers?” 

“You can’t lie to me, Harry.” Louis ticks his tongue. 

“I wasn’t.” Harry’s voice is weak, torturously hot and raspy. So, with that Louis pulls away his hand, backing up before Harry reaches out and grabs his arm, dragging him in closer, “Don’t stop.”

“Then admit it,” Louis taunts, fingers looping into the band of his jeans and Harry shrinks lower, hands placed gently on Louis' chest, fingers vice-gripped to the fabric of his suit to hold him in place, “Tell me the truth, princess.” 

The last word seems to break Harry, turning him into a mess and the space between their lips is suddenly depleted, locking them together. The kiss is heated and deep, Harry’s unspoken admission crawling down Louis’ throat, wrapping around his heart and pulling the strings taut. Their bodies are close, every inch of their skin against one another and finger’s trailing up Harry’s spine, finally residing in Harry’s hair and pulling at the roots. Every time Louis leans in more to deepen the kiss, Harry falls back, letting him in, giving him complete authority. Every inch of Louis’ body is alight with electricity, it’s pumping wildly in his veins with every time Harry’s lips close around his own. 

“You’re right,” Harry murmurs against Louis' lips, and Louis can feel himself smiling, “He hurt me, broke my,” Louis pulls Harry in, spinning him back to being pinned on the wall in one rushed move, “ _..Mmm,_ heart, made me want to be someone he’d actually want.” 

Louis keeps the kiss going a little longer, his tongue sliding between Harry’s teeth, his hands using every ounce of his force to keep Harry in place against the wall, as if he’d move anyway. Louis’ fingers slide underneath his shirt, ghosting over the burning skin of his stomach, his back. When he removes his lips, his words are melting together, “Keep going.” 

Harry takes a deep breath before continuing as Louis’ lips move to his neck, behind his ear, down to kiss his collar bone. His skin is hot, so responsive as the blood is pulled to the surface. “I loved him. I really did. I thought he didn’t want me because I was too.. feminine? I cut my hair, dressed differently, acted tougher. Got rid of all my favorite sweaters, favorite jeans, everything, completely started over. I thought if he didn’t want me, no one would unless I was, I don’t know.. different.” 

At that, Louis’ movements get more gentle, sweeter. Their ragged breathing is causing both chests to heave dramatically, the room seeming to blur around them, it’s just Harry pinned in front of him, it’s all that’s happening in the world right now.  He knew that turning Harry on this way would expose the person hiding under that leather jacket, because Harry would open up, you can’t fight what sexually arouses you, penetrates your mental stability until you're weakened, ready. Louis feels a wave of pride washed in with sadness over a broken heart making Harry think it was his fault. 

“Listen,” Louis’ lips are back to a basic hover, “it’s his loss, okay? There was nothing wrong with you, there never was, there never will be. You should always be yourself. Be comfortable with who you are, Harry, because you’re perfect that way.” 

“Then why-“

“Because he’s a fucking prick, that’s why he treated you that way. Hearing him talk about you pissed me off to my very core, so I can’t imagine what you felt. But it’s over, and you’ll find someone to love you for _you_ not whoever this is,” Louis pulls the jacket, sliding it down Harry's arms until it falls to the floor, “It would be impossible not to.” 

“Why should I believe you?” Harry’s eyes fall, his voice light and childlike, nervous.

“Because, I’m an artist and we know what beauty looks like, and you’re beautiful, Harry. You were beautiful in leather and you’d be beautiful in a pretty-colored sweater that’s a little too big on you. You’d be beautiful with long hair, short hair, anything.” 

“You think so?” 

“I _know_ so.” 

“Why are you telling me this, now?”

“Because I cannot stand the idea of you hiding behind some persona, all over some asshole who didn’t realize what he had before he made you question yourself. There’s a difference between you and I, I’ve always been told I wasn’t good enough, but I know that I am, that’s what matters. I need you to understand that, you are good enough.” 

“And this,” Harry’s lips turn up into a crooked smirk, “slamming me against the wall and pinning me there was going to make me realize this, how?” 

“Because I knew you’d like it, it would turn you on and you’d be a mess at my fingertips. I know you’re a submissive person, I knew this would be a good way to get you to admit to that, because you’re too fucking stubborn any other way.” 

“And what if it didn’t work?” 

“I told you I would stop, all you had to do was say you wanted me to. But, you never did. And if I recall properly, didn’t you actually tell me ‘don’t stop’? Hm?” 

“Shut up,” Harry laughs, back still pressed to the wall, his face is alight and glowing, his smile radiating brighter than the fucking sun and Louis' heart does a flip in his chest. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, babe.” Louis removes his body from the front of Harry’s, feeling the cold replace the static heat. “I’ll admit it was pretty fun. And you’re a pretty good kisser, too.” 

“Am I now?” Harry questions, still leaned against the wall, hair a mess, lips swollen. He looks stunning, even more so than usual. And it’s similar to when he had come home after Louis’ angry journey home with the groceries, but it was different this time. He looks happy, relieved, free. 

“Possibly.” 

“Now that’s not a very straightforward answer.” Harry’s brows raise, finally pushing himself from the wall and sauntering over to stand in front of Louis, “Don’t play around with me like that. Did you like it?”

Louis shrugs, leaning up to press his lips to Harry’s once more, very light and quick, “Does that answer your question?” He says, pulling away. Harry leans forward, not wanting the kiss to break. His mouth falls to a frown when it does, “How is that supposed to answer my question?” 

“If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have kissed you again.” Louis smiles, nonchalant as he basically floats to his room. He’s always wanted to make this kind of exit, leave someone with their mouth open and wanting more, so its precisely what he does. “G’night, _princess._ ” 

Harry’s body coils, lashes fluttering as a huge smile spreads over his cherry lips, “Goodnight, Louis.” 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

It’s safe to say Louis’ doesn’t get much sleep that night.

Not only is his body still rigid and needy, but his mind is going a thousand kilometers a second. He’s laying bed flat on his back, head not even on a pillow because he’s just flopped down. The night has gone instantly wild, with the taste of Harry’s lips still lingering on his and his skin still tingling where Harry was pressed against him. 

It all happened so quickly, Louis doesn’t even know where the fuck it came from. There was just something about Harry’s stubborn ass attitude and how unwilling he was to speak that made Louis snap and it was the first thing that came to his mind. Get him to a state where his mind is mush, and then he’ll admit what he’s really feeling. 

Louis’ going to pretend it had nothing to do with the fact that his body was being pulled towards Harry like a damn magnet, and he’s still shocked his confidence stayed intact even though every inch of him was teamed with doubt and a shy cloak. He’s never been so straight forward before, but it felt _right_ and seeing Harry so willingly in front of him, all but begging for more, only kind of confirmed it. 

But, now what the hell does that mean for them? 

Was it just a kiss? It was almost more if Louis hadn’t broken out of the sex induced-haze he seemed to be momentarily lost in. Was it Louis openly admitting that he cared about Harry? Cared about his well-being despite his attempts to remain neutral? It was ever since Zayn’s reading that Louis knew he was in too deep, that this would be more than two roommates living together. He knew then that Harry was so much more than that, and it’s why he took such a sudden interest to him. 

And this gut reaction was going to change their dynamic immensely and permanently. 

And then again Louis was okay with that. He would be okay with kissing Harry again, feel his skin, hear his breathing so close. He would be okay with always making sure Harry felt that he could be himself around Louis, always, and he was willing to accept that he’s thrown himself into Harry’s life and has possibly secured a place in the transformation he hoped would take place. 

And now he’s going to do what he absolutely needs to right this second, so he pulls his phone out and clicks on Niall’s contact. After a few rings, an Irish accent is filling his ears, “Hello?” 

“I kissed Harry.” Louis greets, cutting straight to the point without hesitation. 

There’s a lot of shuffling on the other end of the phone, Louis snorts out a laugh, “What t’hell do you mean? You kissed him? What the fuck happened tonight?” Niall’s words are tripping over each other in a rush to get out of his throat. 

“The dinner, I met one of Harry’s exes, apparently he treated him like shit and that made him basically want to become a different person. Y’know, Zayn had told me he was more of a submissive person, but it was kind of of a hidden embarrassment, that was interesting but this made me understand it was so much more than that, Niall.” 

“Uhm, okay, I’ll pretend like I know what you’re talking about, what was Harry like before the.. change, or whatever?”

“Liked wearing cute sweaters, being called princess, it’s-“

Niall’s voice cuts him off immediately, “Woah, woah, woah, are we talking about the same Harry here? Your roommate who rides a motorcycle but can’t bother with a helmet, basically lives in a leather jacket, cocky as all hell, likes being called _princess? _”__

__“Yes, and I know, I know. I would’ve never guessed. But anyway, I confronted Harry about it and he completely shut me out, didn’t want to talk about it at all, tried to tell me this big change had nothing to do with the fact that Royce had broken his heart. I was pissed, right?”_ _

__“Whose Royce?”_ _

__“That’s the ex.”_ _

__“Ok, got it, continue.”_ _

__“I knew that was bullshit, so I did something about it. I, uh, you know, like pinned him? Tried to.. turn him on, whatever.” Louis’ sentence is rushed because he knows Niall’s freaking out on the other side of the line, “He admitted to everything.”_ _

__“You pinned him and he admitted to it just like that? That easily?”_ _

__“I mean you didn’t see him, he was a mess, I’ve never seen anyone so ready to be fucked.” Louis regrets the last word as soon as it leaves his lips, and he hears Niall cursing far from the speaker as he slams his palm against his forehead._ _

__“What the fuck, Louis! It went that far?” His tone is so full of shock that Louis’ surprised he can even speak, “Just the other day you were getting shunned for calling him ‘beautiful’ and now you’re basically about to fuck him? Am I missing something here?”_ _

__“It was only a kiss.”_ _

__“What kind of kiss?”_ _

__The silence is all Niall needs to freak out again, “Louis, _fuck!_ ”_ _

__“I had to get it out of him somehow! He’s so stubborn he wouldn’t have admitted to it any other way.” Louis defends, hands raised even though Niall can’t see him._ _

__“Don’t pretend like you did this only for the sake of the truth, you liked it. And it was bound to happen, eventually, if I’m being honest.” Niall’s shrug is obvious even from over the phone._ _

__“What’s that supposed to mean?”_ _

__“You’ve been into him, Louis, I can read you like a book. You’re too interested, too invested, it was only a matter of time before things got physical between you two. The tension was almost unbearable.” Louis’ lips purse at the words, because was it really that obvious? Honestly?_ _

__“We’re not like, a couple or anything, it was just a kiss.”_ _

__“That’s very confusing.”_ _

__“I know, and like, I did it so Harry would know he could be himself around me, like to know that was okay. I had to get to him somehow. But I wouldn’t be against having that with him, all the time, like I enjoyed it.” Louis sighs, gripping the bridge of his nose and squeezing, “I don’t know what I’m saying.”_ _

__“You like him, you liked being with him that way, and you’d like to continue it. What’s so difficult about that?” Niall questions, like it’s as simple as day._ _

__“I guess I just don’t know where Harry stands with all this. I don’t want to tell myself things are different between us, then him not feel the same way, y’know? It was so sudden and unplanned, and it took him by surprise. He was obviously into it, but is he into the thought of sex or into _me_?” Louis can feel himself rambling, but Niall is silent, listening to every words and taking it all in. _ _

__“I think you’ll just have to see where this goes, you can’t sit here and worry yourself, you can only be sure of what this whole thing does for you. Maybe this kind of brings you closer to him, but you need to get t’know the real him, maybe that’s what had to happen in order for that to be a possibility.”_ _

__“So this wasn’t a mistake, kissing him like that?”_ _

__“I don’t think so. I think it opened a door for you to walk through to get to know him better. If he was against it, he wouldn’t have admitted to everything. It’s not like you chained him to a chair and refused to feed him until he talked, Louis.” Niall sounds so sure of what he’s saying and Louis can feel himself relax, “Just go on, don’t act weird and brace for the way he’ll act tomorrow, you’ll know everything by then.”_ _

__“Is it weird that I’m nervous?”_ _

__“No, you just took it to the next level with Harry, I’m happy for you.” There’s nothing but sincerity in Niall’s tone and Louis feels a blush creep onto his cheeks. “And now that all the deep stuff is out of the way, how was the kiss?”_ _

__“Fucking hot,” Louis breathes out, and suddenly it’s like he’s fallen into the stigma of a teen romance movie, which is perfectly fine, “Harry’s just hot in general, felt like I was on fire the entire time.”_ _

__“I’m jealous.”_ _

__“Stop that.”_ _

__“Okay, okay, but you gotta admit it, you’re fucking lucky, anyone would kill to be intimate like that with Harry, his face looks like it was chiseled with crystal.” Niall laughs, and Louis can’t help but smile._ _

__He talks to Niall for a little longer, letting the conversation take a turn and allowing Niall some time to talk about his day, complain about how bitter his coffee was this morning and about how he’d bought a new pair of shoes. Talking to him makes Louis feel a thousand times better, calms him down and lets his mind rest from the racing thoughts earlier, Niall has always been the best person to help him relax._ _

__He’s not going to think about how he and Harry will interact tomorrow, he’s not going to rethink his decisions. Instead, he’s going to laugh at Niall’s jokes and comment on his stupid stories and pace around the room picking at whatever he can get his hands on._ _

__Hours pass before Louis’ phone vibrates against his cheek, signaling the low battery. On that note, he lets Niall off the line, knowing it’s nearing two in the morning by now anyway and he has class tomorrow morning. Of course, he’s too nice to end the conversation first, especially when he knows that he’s Louis’ lifeline for sanity._ _

__But, he says goodnight with a yawn, tells Louis to text him or call him if he starts to worry again and Louis thanks him for always being there, promises to buy him lunch tomorrow as a treat. He feels a lot better once he finally lays back down, after switching on the fan and the television to drown out the impeding thoughts._ _

__It’s cool and relaxed, and all of the lights are out in the living room which means Harry’s asleep in bed, Louis doesn’t know why that thought comforts him so much._ _

__It only takes a few more minutes before Louis’ eyelids are too heavy to keep open and he’s drifting off into sleep with the feeling of Harry’s words ghosting over his lips, “ _Don’t stop._ ” _ _

__And it’s the plea to continue that makes Louis believe that this was right, that he was right._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, well, well. shorter chapter but a lot of importance. what did you think? FEEDBACK FEEDBACK FEEDBACK. I've been so excited for this chapter to come out, for obvious reasons. 
> 
> as always, come DM me on Twitter @curlsbabie, send me some anonymous questions/comments or message me on tumblr @subharrybless. 
> 
> seriously, come talk to me and tell me what you think so far. (now all the exciting stuff can happen!)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and now you know me, for your eyes only..

The sheets are tangled, wrapped strategically around every limb as if trying to purposefully lock Louis in place. He’s disoriented, to say the very least, the sun pouring in through the dirty window pane. The bed is scorching, and Louis couldn’t hope to go back to sleep, instead flinging around his arms until he’s finally freed. 

His eyes are crusted over and heavy, and he’s barely opening them while scooting into the bathroom. Everything still feels vaguely like a dream, like Harry’s lips were a blissful concoction of Louis’ most desired thoughts, like Harry’s skin was imagined in the dirtiest parts, hidden in the far back of his mind. He’s trying to come to terms with his reality, with the reality that included a deep, passionate kiss between him and his roommate just a few hours prior. 

With that, he turns the faucet, hoping the water doesn’t take too long to heat. The mirror beholds an unsightly scene, and it almost makes Louis jump to see the mess of matted hair laid on his head, dried spit clinging to the corner of his lips. And this is the precise reason Louis never, ever lets anyone he’s sexually attracted to see him in the first minutes of the morning. He’d likely scare them off.

When the water is warm enough to not send chills through his whole body, he cups his hand, allowing it to overflow before splashing his face and rinsing the sleep clean away. Below his hands, his own skin feels foreign to him, his fingers craving the soft, silky skin of Harry’s back and stomach, and fuck, it’s way too early for this shit. 

He’s convincing himself, pretending that he’s confident and unwavering and he’s not going to walk out of this room with an expression that gives away the unnatural unease he’s feeling at the pit of his stomach. And yeah, he’s been nervous before, obviously. But it’s never been this type of nervous, where he’s continuously splashing water over his eyes and somewhat wishing it could clear his thoughts just as easy. 

Louis hears the sure voice of Niall echoing around the cluttered jam in his skull, trying to even things out and reassure him that kissing Harry was the right choice. Maybe, maybe. But was being so forward? Pining him against the wall, mouth inches away with hot breath to cloud his judgment. Because he knew, had a slither of an idea that Harry was interested in him. And not in the “we both live together and I should know your middle name,” kind of interested. 

And he took that and used it as a pawn against Harry, got him to admit to things he’s normally too stubborn to even think about. Somewhere in the spiderweb of thoughts, Louis knows that wasn’t okay, he should’ve given Harry the time to come out with the truth all on his own. But he’s countering his own arguments- he did tell Harry he would stop if given the command, so there was a way out, and if Harry opted not to take it, then it wouldn’t fall on Louis’ shoulders. 

He can’t help but worry, and he hates to worry.   


He’s always told himself that there was no point in worrying, it was too short of a life to spend the effort on. And now, he’s here, staring at himself in the mirror and loathing the way his eyes seem to glisten every time Harry’s name flashes in his memory. Or the stark perfect image of his face, especially the way his deep pink lips parted and his voice seemed to seep out dangerously slow and drawn out, he can feel his own breathing speed up.

Now is a good time to brush his teeth, and forget. 

There’s clamoring from the kitchen, which means Harry isn’t only awake, but he’s home and Louis picks at the counter, cleaning off dirt that isn’t there because he’s fucking buying time. He’s procrastinating this whole face-to-face ordeal, the reason being that he’s not sure how his body, his voice will react to the pressure of seeing how Harry’s interaction around him will change. The most likely scenario includes Louis fumbling around with a coffee mug as he haphazardly pours and attempts to keep things casual, all while basking the room in an unnecessary awkwardness. And then, he’ll leave wordlessly and quickly and hate himself for it. 

” _You’re being a baby, you’re being a baby, Louis._ ” He says, in a hushed whisper, psyching himself up. “It’s just Harry, it’s fine.” He adds, before taking one long, prolonged breath, leaving the bathroom. 

His hand freezes on the handle of his bedroom door, hearing a shuffling and a small musical tone. It sounds like Harry’s whistling. The noise flows through all of Louis’ tense limbs and unwinds him; there’s no sense in being so scared, everything will be just fine between them. Yeah, he acted out on a supposedly platonic friendship, quite aggressively at that, and kissed his troubled roommate, what’s the big deal? 

When Louis opens the door, he looks tired, nothing out of the ordinary, but his eyes are subconsciously searching for Harry. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, a nervous tick, as he walks quietly to the kitchen. Harry is, well, shirtless. He’s wearing loose basketball shorts and a bunch of silky curls quaffed away from his face. All the ink from his tattoos is on display and Louis can’t seem to focus on anything else. 

It’s art, really, in every sense of the word. Not only the designs, but the way they contrast so beautifully against Harry’s skin. 

“Good morning, Louis.” Harry sing-songs, snapping Louis from his obvious stare. His cheeks redden just slightly. 

“Harry,” He nods, “Sleep well?” 

“I did, you?”  


“Yeah.” Louis winces at the tense air, he wants out of here, but before he can grab a mug to-go, he feels fingers ghosting over the small of his back, just over his t-shirt. 

“You seem pent up, everything okay?” 

Louis tries to even out his voice, pretend like his heart isn’t racing at the simplest touch, “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“D’you wanna talk about last night?” Harry presses, leaning up against the counter. The muscles from his forehead are straining and Louis is having a hard time keeping his body at bay. 

“Uhm,” He coughs, looking to the floor, “What about last night?” 

“Don’t play coy, you had me pressed against the wall, you kissed me, pretty damn good, too. Were you just trying to weasel information from me, or was that something you really wanted to do?” Harry cocks his head. So he’s getting straight to the point this morning. 

Louis feels absolutely put on the spot, and stress is not his friend, in fact it’s the exact opposite. His mind is frazzled, trying to put together enough words to make a coherent sentence. “You’re stubborn, I wanted to know more about your past, you wouldn’t tell me.” 

“Oh,” Harry nods, his lips twitching into a small frown, and it makes Louis’ stomach drop, but he doesn’t know what else to say, he doesn’t really know how to handle this situation. He’s so out of his element, would saying he wanted to do it make Harry feel better? Would it make him uncomfortable? 

“Yeah,” He responds, weakly. 

“Well,” Harry breathes in, his whole body deflating and now Louis feels even more awful, “M’gonna go out to see a friend for a little bit, was just going to tell you that I might not be home tonight, so.” 

“Okay,” Louis feels his voice shaking, and Harry’s brows shoot up, “When are you leaving?” 

“In a few, why?” 

“No reason, just..” Louis trails off. And there is a silence that falls between them. Louis doesn’t want Harry to leave, he was hoping he would be here all day even though the thought made his whole body shake. 

Harry stands there, eyes trained on Louis, and it’s like he’s willing Louis to speak, to say anything, but Louis can’t form the words. He feels like he’s walking on egg shells when things are nowhere near as complicated as he’s making them out to be. He should just outwardly tell Harry, that yes, he wanted to kiss him. Because he did, he really did, but at the same time he’s trying to keep a steady dynamic between them, he doesn’t want to push anything. 

And when Harry eyes drop, he loses the restraint to hold back his unformed thoughts and he says the first thing that lands on his tongue, “I wanted to, Harry, I wanted to do it.” 

“Wanted to, what? Kiss me?” 

“Yeah, everything, I, uh, I just. I can’t really explain. I was trying to get you to feel like you could open up to me, but at the same time I was just doing everything my body was asking to do. I wanted to touch you, I wanted that so badly, more than I realized.” 

And to say that Harry was trying his very best to hide the obvious smile on his face would be a complete understatement, and Louis can help but mirror the exact expression onto his own face. The first thing that he acknowledges is that Louis admitting to wanting to kiss him rather than just getting information was something Harry had wanted to hear, and it was something that was important enough to make him smile, which warms Louis’ stomach and makes his legs feel sort of numb.

Because Harry is just so beautiful when he smiles. 

“I’ve been wanting you to kiss me since I met you, if you couldn’t tell.” Harry shrugs, trying to come off nonchalant but doing a completely terrible job at it. 

“I don’t pick up on flirting as easily as some people, Harry.” Louis teases, cocking his head to the side, playfully, as he walks over to the coffee pot. Harry was up earlier and prepared it, with hazelnut, Louis’ favorite, “but I just wanted to say that before you left, I don’t want you thinking I was just doing that to trick you. I meant every word I said, but I’m never any good at getting my words out when I’m nervous.” 

“You’re nervous now, but you weren’t nervous last night. You are surely an anomaly, Louis Tomlinson.” 

“I wasn’t nervous because I was so pissed, driven by anger. It was a mixture of my dad and Liam, Royce, and you closing me off. It was, I don’t know, acting on emotion kind of thing? If that makes sense.” Louis focuses on the pour of aromatic coffee, earning a reason to keep his eyes from Harry, he knows it’ll make him trip over his own words to maintain that contact.

“Did you regret it? At all?” 

“I think I was worried that I  _might_  regret it if things got uncomfortable between us,” Louis answers honestly, “but if you’re fine, then I’m fine. I just didn’t want to over step any boundaries.” 

Harry nods, smile still hinting in the corners of his lips while he walks to his room, “I get it, and I’m fine. For the record, if you were overstepping any boundaries, I would’ve asked you to stop.” Before Louis can respond, Harry adds on, “I’m getting dressed, plans are beckoning.” 

And just like that, Harry disappears into his room, leaving Louis with a full cup of coffee and a confused but content smile on his face.   
   
   
   
****  
   
   
_Pallas and the Centaur,_  by Italian painter Sandro Botticelli, as compared to someone of French influence such as Jean-Francois Millet’s  _Paysage de printemps avec arc-en-ciel_  would be an inconceivable contrast, pure talent with every stroke and a mind so intricately precise as to their vision, it’s all so in-depth.  It’s the detail in both of the pieces, the story that your thoughts seem to whirl to create when you’re staring at it, and Louis only hopes that to some extent he’ll be able to do as much with his own hands. He wants his art hung here, on the massive walls all covered in the most beautiful mastery. All for people to see, to observe, make them think and connect with what he was trying to express what his words just couldn’t on their own. 

He wants someone to stand where he’s standing right now, with their index finger resting on their bottom lip as they follow the lines, the colors, the textures. 

Would they understand what it represents? Will they see happiness where he saw childhood misfortune? Will they see blossoming petals where he saw the transformation of confidence into a broken man? Will they feel the pain of not being good enough when the dark colors rest so close to each other, the light pastels so far they seem to be out of reach?

And they may, or they may not, and that is what makes art so free and interesting. It’s the way everyone has an individual interpretation of even the most obscure pictures. Because even if someone did have their own story they attached to his words, he’d have done something right, he would have created something that was going to live on. 

His flowers could live in the form of a smile that it put on someone’s face, or the memory that it brought up. It could live on in the words someone used to explain it, the words they used to tell people about it. It could live on in the way someone’s heart swells when they think, “My mother always loved petunias..”

Louis could crawl into a ball and sleep right here on the floor and never leave for a second. He feels whole here, in this museum, filled with the pieces he probably knows by heart. This is his home and his inspiration, what pushed him through when he felt like he was on the wrong side of the fence, prevented him from hopping it and becoming someone that wasn’t himself. And he’s so appreciative of everything this has taught him; these four walls, he owes his life to. 

“Louis, y’okay man?” 

Louis’ eyes jump of the image he was staring at, the friendly worker next to him with a very confused and worried expression on his face. “Yeah, I’m good, why?” 

“It looked like you were crying.” He answers, his face smoothing out, “I see you here all the time, sometimes I wonder if you forget where you are, the way you stare at some of these paintings.” 

“I probably do,” Louis laughs, “and I’m not crying, my eyes water from not blinking.” 

“Why? Why’re you so into these? I mean, it’s fine that you are, and all.” The worker looks like he’s in his mid-twenties, stark red hair and a welcoming smile. 

“I paint, and these pieces are what inspired me to start, so I like to come by and revel in the memory.” 

“You know a lot about these paintings?” He asks, and Louis glances at his name tag, reading ’Trevor.’ 

“I do.” 

“Well, my dad works here, I know he’s seen you around a lot. If you want, I can give him your name, see if maybe we need some help with the museum tours and all that?”

“Are you kidding me?” Louis shouts, unaware of his projecting volume until it’s echoing from the walls. He clears his throat, recomposing, “I’d love that, wow, you have no idea how amazing that would be, thank you so much.” Louis glances down at his own attire, only wishing he’d been dressed more professionally, more formal. Instead, clad in a pair of dark jeans and his favorite too-large-for-his-frame lavender sweater. Though, this morning when he had pulled it on, it smelled faintly of Harry, and Louis is surely going crazy.   


“Mate, it’s all good, we need some knowledgeable people around here, I’m sure he’ll appreciate you.”

“You’re my saviour, pal.” Louis grabs Trevor’s hand in his own for a firm handshake, “I hope it works out.” 

“He’ll hopefully be giving you a call to set up for a formal interview, so if you want to write down your name and some contact info I’ll gladly slip it to him.” He says, and Louis immediately pulls out his wallet, grabbing a pen from the nearby desk to write his information on the back of his last doctors appointment reminder card. 

“It’s all there.” 

“Great, look forward to working with you, maybe now I can split some hours, I’m tired of forty plus a week.” 

“I need’em, so.” 

Trevor gives Louis one last nod before heading off to help a customer, flagging him down for some information. So, today couldn’t have possibly been better, not even in Louis’ dream. He’s sure he’s applied here dozens of times, but they probably throw away all the applications after a brief glance. With the testimony of family, hopefully he has a sure fire chance of landing a spot. 

Of course, he’s well aware its best to not get his hopes up, but his heart is going off anyway, beating like crazy and his cheeks hurt from smiling so fucking big. Having a job here would be more than a dream come true. Hell, he comes here in his free time but to actually get  _paid?_ That’s a completely different story and Louis’ already practically skipping. 

He wants to call Niall, but he’s in class (the reason Louis didn’t drag his ass up here in the first place). He’s not super artistic, but he comes with Louis all the time because he knows it makes Louis happy. Honestly, everyone needs a friend like Niall, Louis’d probably be a hateful ball of dark matter if not for the sunshine that beams off Niall twenty-four hours of the day. 

It’s been a little lonely without the comments, questions and remarks Niall will throw in on occasion while Louis scans the walls.

He pulls out his cell anyway, deciding a text would be sufficient and Niall will surely call him as soon as the professor lets the class out. He settles on  _good news, was offered a job at my favourite museum, can you fucking believe it !?_

The building is within close walking distance, which was a definite must-have when it comes to work, being as Louis doesn’t have a functioning car. His unfaithful ride had broken down long ago, presumably from the lack of petrol, but Louis’ willing to bet there’s a shit load more wrong with it. And he’s just going to start saving for a different used car, maybe have a mechanic check it over and make sure its reliable. And give his feet a fucking break. 

He’s been at the museum for well over two hours, so he’s sure Harry’s gone by now. He didn’t leave immediately like he was planning to, still in his room even after Louis had taken a shower, gotten ready, scarfed down a quick (and unhealthy, oops) lunch. Louis’d knocked on his door, yelled a “see you later,” and left, wondering why Harry had been in such a rush only to hang out behind closed doors for quite some time. 

But, he’s definitely gone by now, which means Louis will have to keep his excitement at bay about his exhilarating day until Niall gets out of class at four this afternoon. 

Boo. 

The sidewalks crumbles under Louis’ worn down shoes, the soles doing their very best to hang on even after repeated abuse, non-stop wear. It was probably too far on the chilly side to just be wearing a sweater, the wind whipping around and raising bumps all over his skin, even the parts covered in the soft fabric. Every now and again there’ll be a distinct waft of a familiar scent, not akin to his laundry detergent or his previously worn colognes, and Louis can only really pinpoint it as  _Harry._  

Which is fine, but is also confusing considering Louis hadn’t worn this around him since his last laundry load. But, nonetheless it was still not the smartest idea to come unprepared, and if anyone would be out in cold weather with only one layer, it’d be Louis. He’s always been bad about that, underestimating the impact a thin layer of comfortable fabric could have against the frigid air. Always arguing, “what’s the point of wearing this magnificent color if its going to be half covered by another jacket, anyway?” Fashion over comfort? Not the best ideology. Oh, well. 

His and Harry’s flat comes into view a short distance away, and Louis’ really looking forward to cranking the heat, curling into the couch with a thick comforter and watching stupid movies he’s probably seen about a hundred times already. 

But there’s still a car in the driveway, Harry’s car, and his bike parked directly next to it.   
   


And that’s… odd? He’s still here, which Louis was wholly not expecting. And he’s not upset about it, but it’s catching him off guard. He was planning to be out a little later, but he didn’t have the heart to hang around the museum longer just in case they had decided against the job and said something to him about it right then and there. Which is likely ridiculous and wouldn’t happen, but paranoia is sometimes persistent on Louis’ mind and he’s not feeling the need to test his anxiety out today.   


The sun dips behind a light grey cloud, making the only heat source dissipate and Louis’ walking speeds because shit, it’s fucking cold now. 

His hand is aching from being tucked into his tight pockets, shielding from the breeze. His fingers stretch and pop once before he can get the key into the lock, opening the door quietly. Half of him expects to see people over, the other half looking for Harry to be in the kitchen. The kid eats like fucking crazy, and even after buying out eighty percent of the small grocery store, it’s about time to go back again. But, Harry’s going this time, Louis’ not taking the chances of abandonment. 

The flat is dead silent, no noise in the kitchen, no voices, no sleeping body on the couch. Harry’s door is open, but the light’s off. Maybe a friend came and picked Harry up? That’d explain his car and bike still being in the driveway despite him not being here. 

Louis kicks off his shoes, pulling his sleeves over his hands to hopefully warm them just a bit as he strolls into the kitchen to grab a lighter. It’s not as easy to flick the Bic when your fingers and covered in a flammable fabric, but Louis’ become at expert at maneuvering with a case of ‘sweater paws’ or whatever the fuck they’re supposed to be called. 

He lights about four candles, before reaching for the remote with all the intent to flop down on the couch. The flat is always pretty warm, but he’s freezing so he’s grabbing a comforter anyway, because he can. 

Rubbing his covered hands together, he goes towards his bedroom, stopping just in front of the closed door. There’s a sound coming from inside, his television on, and Louis knows for a fact he didn’t forget to switch it off. It’s not a scary feeling, considering any robber-slash-murderer would likely not be hanging out in the homeowner’s bedroom, watching TV like it was the most leisurely thing. 

He turns the handle, being as quiet as possible. 

Once he peeks his head in, he can see his previous assumption was right, the television is on, volume turned down low. The light’s on, bed is still made, but there’s no one in immediate sight. 

So he continues on, hearing a faint humming sound, it’s coming from his open closet. The light is on in there too (how awesome are walk in closets? Lights and all) and Louis decides the culprit is most definitely hanging out in his closet, he doesn’t really blame them, his taste in attire is pretty fucking great. 

He pokes his head around the corner and what catches his eye is enough to make his heart flip over in his chest, his face immediately beaming with the widest smile.   


Harry. He’s home, in Louis’ closet, his upper body covered in one of Louis’ sweaters. He wears them big so that they kind of engulf him, but they’re still a bit smaller on Harry than what looks comfortable. It’s the light yellow one, he wears it mostly when he knows a day will be gloom, rainy or just hard to get through. The yellow adds in a sense of happiness and glow, it makes him feel better. 

Harry’s fingers are casually scanning over the wide array of clothing, feeling the soft fabric. Louis’ raises his hands to face, covering his mouth to conceal the sound of his breathing, just in case he gets caught. It still smells like Harry, and it finally makes sense that, maybe this isn’t the first time Harry’s been in here, trying on his sweaters. 

The fabric falls looser on his shoulders, the vibrant color so perfect against Harry’s skin. He’s trying his best to look littler in the sweater, swaying his body back and forth with the sweetest smile hinting at his lips. He looks like he should always wear it, like it’s his favorite thing in the world. Louis shifts to his left foot, to lean against the wall and watch just bit longer. But, the floorboard creaks at the movement, and Harry jumps to automatically face Louis.

Fuck, he hates his floor sometimes. 

“Louis,” He blinks, erratic and nervous, “Uh, all my shirts are dirty, I was just- I just,” 

“Harry, it’s fine.” Louis keeps his tone as casual as he can, he wants Harry to know this is no big deal, “You can borrow some if you like.” 

“No, no.” Harry shakes his head, in a quickened attempt to remove the sweater. 

Louis’ hands fly to Harry’s where they’re grabbing the hem, “Don’t,” His word is more like a breath, but it makes Harry halt, “Keep it on, Harry, you look good in it.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything right away, but his hands fall to his side. He sort of shifts himself away from how close Louis’ standing, shrinking into the sweater and it’s so obvious he’s embarrassed, a bright red stinging his cheeks. 

“Harry,” Louis scoots closer, “you can wear them, anything you want to wear. It doesn’t bother me, I promise you. Don’t be embarrassed, you’re so beautiful in them, how could I possibly be mad?” 

“You weren’t supposed to know.” Harry says, its weak and light.

“Why don’t you want me to know?” 

“Because,” He shrugs, allowing Louis’ hands to wrap around his waist, both of them facing each other, “I wasn’t ready for anyone to see me in them just yet. I took what you said to heart, I really did. But I’m just coming to terms with being like-“ He glances down and back into Louis’ eyes, “-this, wearing stuff like this.” 

“And take all the time you need, okay, I’m not rushing you. But, since I have already seen you in them, maybe you can keep it on, just for me to see. You know that you can be yourself around me, sweaters and all.” Louis pulls at the fabric stretching it out a bit more to look even bigger on Harry. He doesn’t mind that it’ll be more like a dress on him now, because Harry’s face is so full of happiness. 

“Maybe I’ll leave this one on, just for today.” 

“What happened to the plans later?” 

“Forecast said heavy rain for tonight, I know that it kinda scares you to be here incase the lights were to go out, so I just asked to hangout a different time.” 

Louis pulls Harry in closer, his arms wrapped protectively around him, “It doesn’t scare me, no, but I won’t complain about having you here with me. Especially not when you look so fucking cute in this sweater, in  _my_ sweater.” Louis choses to not bring up the fact that he knows Harry’s done this before and he’s surely aware of it. And he decides to leave the museum job out of the conversation. It’s not about him right now. 

“I thought you’d be mad. I know you, like, don’t like anyone in your room without you here, I’m like that, too. It’s just- I didn’t think you’d be back for another hour or so..” 

“Harry, if anyone else was in here while I was gone, trying on my clothes without asking I’d be furious. But, it’s you, you’re different.” And before Harry can ask Louis to elaborate, he presses his lips to Harry’s for the third time in his life, and it doesn’t take more than a second for his body to be engulfed in white-hot flames. 

Harry automatically kisses back. And for a second, Louis forgets this is the same boy who came into his flat, reeking of cockiness and danger. The one who had burrowed Louis with his intense eyes, the one who made Louis’ bones turn into jello with the simplest of words. It’s the same boy who’d left him at the market, ditched him for sex. But now, he’s all tangled into Louis’ arms, wearing his clothes and trying to be  _himself_  again.

And Louis admits it, he likes Harry, he did from the moment he met him despite desperately believing he didn’t. But, he likes him even more when his walls are down and he’s not putting on a brave face. 

Harry had been hurt, broken by someone who had his heart. The damage was enough to make Harry believe he was wrong to be the way he was. And now, he’s attempting to be that person again, be the Harry that he was before it was crumbled to pieces and rebuilt, completely different. 

The emotion is more clear in his voice, he’s more susceptible to pain, embarrassment, he’s also more open and when Louis talks to him, it feels like Harry listens to every single word. 

It means everything.

“This is unconventional, and I know that you’re probably as confused as I am over what we are,” Louis murmurs against Harry’s lips, “but I want you to know that if you want to romp around in just your boxers and my sweaters, you should. You always should. And if you ever want to tell me anything, want to try anything, tell me, okay?” 

Harry nods, keeps quiet as Louis continues, “And if having someone hold you like this, kiss you like this, is what makes you more confident in being yourself again, I want to be the one to do it. I want to be the  _only_  one to do it, if you’re okay with that.” 

“You’re the only one who knows, but even if I had a hundred people willing to help me, I’d want it to be you. I think you’re truthful in your words, and even though I seem to be a completely different person than I was a few days ago, before you called me out, you still want to be around me. That says more about you than anything.” 

It’s gooey and cheesy and completely overdone, but Louis couldn’t give less of a shit. He’d gladly stand here and hold Harry as he rebuilds himself yet again, but he’s going to always be here to make sure Harry does it the right way. 

“Do you feel like yourself in that leather jacket?” 

“No.” 

“Then let’s get rid of it, when you’re ready. And every time I see you not wearing pretty colors and big sweaters, I’m going to die a little inside. Because you should see how happy you look in them, and how happy I look with you in them. It’s a win-win situation.” Louis lets his tone turn more playful, his hands sliding up just underneath Harry’s sweater before he realizes what he’s doing. Harry’s breath comes out shaky and soft at the touch. 

“And maybe I’ll always wear them when it’s just us.” 

“I’d love that,” Louis whispers, and again he connects Harry’s lips with his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter ten already, and this is so wild. I still remember when this fic was still a seed in my head and now I'm so in love with it. I hope that you're all enjoying this story as much as I am, I've been having so much fun with it. 
> 
> don't know how many times I can say 'thank you' for all the comments, messages, and encouragement from you all. it means the entire world to me, so never, ever hesitate to come talk to me with any questions, comments, anything (really.)
> 
> writing is a passion of mine that I have never quite been able to share until I began writing here, so it still stuns me when people tell me how much they're into this fic. you're all amazing, thank you for reading and for your support. 
> 
> as always, twitter is @curlsbabie, and tumblr is @subharrybless (you can message me or send some asks.) 
> 
> :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a few months have passed and Louis has watched Harry blossom more and more, loving the outcome. added bonus: Harry has an incredible libido.

Time was always supposed to help the most, and in Harry’s case, it was doing exactly that. 

It took a while for things to come around, but gradually everything felt like it fell more into place. Every aspect in life is almost one big puzzle, and sometimes the pieces are missing and sometimes you don’t see the full picture. That’s what Louis thinks Harry is, he’s this intricate and difficult puzzle. With every passing hour it becomes easier to see who is he, and the image gets more and more beautiful. 

Lately he’s been romping around the flat in sweats and one of Louis’ sweaters. They’re all stretched out now and Louis gets swallowed whole when he puts them back on but Harry continues to glow. The fabric is soft on his skin and the delicate smile is permanent. Harry adores the sweaters. Louis adores Harry. 

Today, Louis couldn’t feel more comfortable. The flat is warmed in a new color, a stunning but controlled tangerine and white combination. The candles (of course) are lit all around the living room and the sweetened aroma seems to dance around Louis’ face and reside onto each sense. Harry’s perched on the other end of the couch, he seems to always favor the left side, curled underneath a blanket and tucked safely into a peppermint green fleece sweater. It makes his eyes shine, Louis thinks. 

Harry's watching television, one of those home renovation shows, but Louis’ all too happy watching Harry instead. The sharp edge of his jaw is softened by the silky smooth of his skin, creasing slightly into a dimple with the tiniest hint of a smile. Ringlets in a rich brown are trailing lower than his usual quiff, hanging wherever they may fall at the time, and it’s so easy. 

It’s so easy to be this beautiful without trying when you’re Harry. 

Louis’ noticed this mostly when Harry’s not paying a bit of attention. When he’s laughing so loud it comes out more of a snort. And when he’s so into his conversation the little crease forms between his brows. He sees it most when he stares at the little movements Harry does. The way he chews his knuckles when he’s feeling anxious. Or the small roll of his shoulder and blush when he’s overwhelmed. 

Right now, he’s talking. Probably about some pretty design pattern for the accent wall, but Louis can’t hear a word he’s saying. His focus is set primarily on the way Harry’s lips mold around each word, and he can feel himself start to grin, but he suppresses it, humming out a “Mhm,” and willing Harry to continue. 

The days have fallen into step of this particular pattern. If Louis wakes up first, he cooks a breakfast of either scrambled eggs, pancakes and bacon, french toast or waffles. If Harry wakes up first, he runs the coffee pot and makes them a bowl of cereal (he hasn’t quite perfected the art of cooking, but eh.) After eating, they’ll separate to their rooms and get ready for the day, Harry’s usually consisting of going out for whatever reason, while Louis tries to work up inspiration for an art piece, or a walk in the park. 

In the evening, Louis will cook dinner while Harry sits at the counter and watches. He usually cocks his head to the right and mentally takes notes of Louis’ ingredients and preparation. Then, he’ll get lost in a conversation and completely forget, then complain about it later when he realizes he’s lost track. 

And Louis will say “I can just write down the recipes,” and Harry will reply, “It’s more fun to watch you.” 

Then Louis will pick out a movie or television show from Netflix while Harry goes to Louis’ closet to find a sweater of his choosing, flopping down on the left side of the couch and tucking his toes into the cracks of the cushions. 

Right now, it’s seven in the evening and they have their bellies full of lasagna and they’re watching HGTV, as per Harry’s request. 

“Have you ever thought about it?” Harry asks, and Louis blinks, snapping his focus back into place and locking his jaw at the pink blush spreading over Harry cheeks. He catches Louis staring at him all the time, he should be quite used to it by now. 

“Thought about what?” 

“Reupholstering the chairs, like with a kinda funky pattern to spice the place up.” 

“Harry,” Louis rolls his eyes, “the flat is decorated in bright tangerine, I’d say it’s pretty spiced up.” 

Harry pokes his lower lip out, tugging down the sleeves and covering his hands. It’s ‘sweater-paw’ eternally for Louis now, with Harry’s long ass arms, but he doesn’t mind one bit. His hands get cold often, anyway. “We should do an ocean blue next.” 

“Because blue is calming, does it relax you?”

“No,” Harry shrugs, looking down at the comforter covering his body, “It’s your eye color and I think it’s pretty, is all.” 

“You’re only saying that because I made you lasagna tonight, you suck-up.” Louis jokes, laughing to lighten the mood. His insides are melting and gooey but that’s beside the point. 

“Not true,” Harry argues, “I always tell you how pretty your eyes are.” 

“You’re just precious,” Louis leans over, pressing his index against the top of Harry’s nose, “cutie.” 

Harry smacks his hand away too late, Louis’ already shuffling into the kitchen. He’s getting a glass of water, and deciding whether or not to get out the vanilla ice-cream or wait another hour. While contemplating, he hears the floor boards creak, signaling Harry's approach into the small kitchen. 

“You’re going to miss the home reveal.” He says, stepping up to stand directly in front of Louis, Louis’ hands immediately raising to rest on Harry’s hips. Everything seems to be real and in control, it’s like second nature. They’ve not gone past kissing, but the lingering touches and holds are never a rarity. 

“I was just thirsty.” 

“Annoying,” Harry makes a disgusted face, “you and your basic human needs.” 

“Get over it,” Louis’ hands tighten to press into the layer of soft skin hanging delicately over the band of Harry’s sweats. Usually, nights go pretty much the same with couch-and-television-time. But Harry’s been more touchy, and so has Louis. 

Harry keeps swaying back and forth, his eyes jumping from Louis’ own eyes to his lips, making it clear and obvious he’s wanting Louis to kiss him. So, he does. He leans up onto his tip-toes, pressing them together, the heat of Harry’s breath fanning over his face. It sweet, always so sweet. Hands are gentle as they glide up the fabric, Harry shuddering with the warmth.

Louis’ fingertips go to trace patterns, while his lips press in a little deeper, tasting Harry in full and loving every moment of it. There has never been a feeling quite like kissing Harry. Like all of Louis’ nerves are on fire and his limbs are tingling and wild. His every movement is unthought and steady, perfect, memorizing every little curve, dip, of Harry’s body. 

Harry’s hum vibrates all the way down Louis’ throat and settles deep into his core, igniting it. 

Louis’ nails instinctively dig in, causing Harry to bite down on Louis’ lips, electricity shooting up his spine, breathing halted. It’s nearly impossible for Louis not to slam him back against the counter, take things to the next level. But, he’s taking it slow, bracing himself and Harry. When it comes to the repair of something broken, it’s important to take time. 

Harry, unfortunately, doesn’t agree. 

He’s made it more than obvious, his desires, and Louis’ throat dries out and his hands sweat because as much as he hates to say the word ‘no’ to Harry, he’s willing to let him down in order to hold off, make sure it’s the right move. Louis’ always had a habit of overthinking. 

“How much longer are you going to tease me, Louis?” Harry asks into the kiss. 

“I’m not teasing you.” Louis fires back, playfully, stepping into Harry and pressing his back against the refrigerator, “just a little bit of fun.” 

“It’d be more fun if we were naked.” 

At that, Louis' mouth drops into a wide open smile, “Harry! Calm yourself, what did I tell you about taking things slow?” 

“Listen,” Harry breathes, “you want it, I _definitely_ want it, and I know you can deliver it just the way I like it. So, why wait?” 

“Because I said so,” Louis tilts his head, blinking innocently, “There will come a day where you’ll be anticipating the sore you’ll feel the next day. But not yet.” 

Harry huffs, shoulders slumping, “You’re a tease.” 

“And you’re so damn adorable.” Louis smiles, bringing his hand to cup Harry’s cheek. He leans his face into the touch. “I just want to be sure, I want _you_ to be sure. We’ve only just established this as something, we have a long time, no need to rush, Harry.” 

“Your sweet words do nothing for me when this is a thing,” Harry glances down at the bulge pressing against the fabric of his sweats. 

Louis’ finger hooks into the waist band, pulling it away from Harry’s hips before releasing and snapping it back with a loud pop, “Dirty boy. You’re gonna miss the big house reveal,” He winks, and Harry scowls. 

His face is all too precious when it’s scrunched up in annoyance and Louis can’t help but smile at the sour expression. Harry, recently, has never had an ounce of shame when he’s showing just how much he wants to get with Louis. 

Sometimes, it’s so hard to say _no_ that Louis has to get up and physically walk out of the room. Because when there is someone who looks like an angel running their fingers up and down your stomach, inching closer to the band of your pants, all while whispering, “please?” self-determination, and control kind of flies out of the fucking window. 

And occasionally Louis will taunt Harry right back. It tends to lead into a whole other world of ‘who can make who more horny without actually doing anything.’ 

“You can’t possibly hold off forever, I can see how much you’re wanting it.” Harry smirks, readjusting uncomfortably as he walks over to the cabinet to pull down a bag of popcorn. 

“You don’t know what I want, Styles.”

“If you’re not careful I’ll trick you into drawing me with nothing but your sweater on.” 

“Titanic style?” 

“Titanic style.” Harry nods, “And how could you possibly resist?”

Louis gives it a little bit of thought, realizing that if Harry really were laying on a couch dressed in nothing but an article of his clothing he would lose all his mental capability to hold off any longer, but he’s not going to let Harry know that. 

“Just because you lack any self control when it comes to getting fucked, doesn’t mean that I don’t when it comes to fucking you. I want to do it at just the right time.” 

Harry’s body tenses, his smirk falling into a simply tortured smile, “You sound so hot when you curse.” 

“And I think I’m going to start growing grey hair waiting for you to start popping this popcorn.” Louis picks up the unopened bag and throws it right at Harry, hitting him directly in the stomach. “You can play temptress later, baby, we got a show to watch.” 

“You don’t even like my renovation shows.” 

“No, but I like you a little bit, so I don’t mind watching them with you. As long as I get to actually pick out the movie tomorrow without you complaining about the lack of interior design involved.” 

“Isn’t it funny how you’re the one who loves to decorate the flat in all these pretty colors and have the matching candles and curtains but you can’t stand watching someone else do it? And then you have me, whose content with a standard house, but I adore watching those shows.” 

“You’re a watcher, I’m a do-er.” Louis shrugs, staring at the popcorn bag still laying on the kitchen floor, Harry making no move to pick it up, so Louis does instead, tossing it in the microwave. 

“I’ll wait for this to finish if you wanna go get comfortable on the couch.” Harry saunters to Louis’ side, pressing his lips delicately to Louis’ in a tiny kiss. Louis nods, hooking his hand around the back of Harry’s neck and kissing him a little deeper, letting it linger for a little longer. 

“Just don’t burn it.” 

“I’ll try not to.” 

And life is perfect, at least for now. 

 

 

*****

 

 

Louis’d talked to the museum manager a few days ago, earning a huge apology for the amount of time it took to hear back. Apparently, they weren’t planning to hire for a few more months, but with the details he’d heard from his son, he had to get a job offer out there. Louis was ecstatic, agreeing on next week for an interview and screaming for Harry once the phone call finally ended. 

Everything was falling into place. 

Except for one main thing, Louis had no, absolutely _no_ inspiration behind a new art piece. He was overly focused on everything else going on in his life. Possible new job, new boyfriend (Niall was especially excited to hear all about it), leaving no space for the artistic freedom he always had on the front burner. 

So, today, he’s going to sit in front of the empty canvas with a full palette of paint and clean brush in his hand. He’s going to stare at the condemning white purity and hope for a miracle to come popping into his full head. All of the lights in the flat are out, all candles lit to provide a serene lighting, dead silence falling all around. 

It always sounds so easy to everyone else. ‘Oh, you just paint flowers? What’s so hard about that other than the technique?’ But, it’s not the flowers, it’s what they represent. There’s no emotional integrity if you’re painting objects without having a certain feeling behind it. But all Louis can feel right now is happy and content, leaving the piece to flow as something he’s painted many times before. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

It feels almost like he’s hit a brick wall and can’t seem to find an obstacle around it. He hears the door open, very quietly, soles of heavy shoes on the floor. Harry still wears his normal attire when he goes out; black jeans, band shirts, worn boots and that leather jacket. Louis should paint a piece about how much he hates that fucking thing. But, Harry’s not quite ready to burn it just yet, so Louis will bite his tongue. 

No words are present in the space, because Harry knows not to interject when Louis has a train of thought. Funny thing is, Louis’ brain dead as of right now. 

“M’stuck.” He says, voice so low he doesn’t expect Harry to hear it. 

He’s surprised when Harry’s reply comes immediately, “Can’t get the wheels turning?” 

“No, I just- I don’t know what I can represent in the piece, it’s like, a ghost town in there.” Louis murmurs, tapping the end of the paint brush against his temple. 

It feels heavier, but Harry’s attitude is feather light as he goes into Louis’ room, always going for the sweaters before anything else. When he returns, he has one of a soft scarlet color, it looks sultry on him. “Poor baby, want me to inspire you?” 

“You should get something prescribed for that extreme libido you’ve got there.” Louis shakes his head, redirecting his stare to the canvas and wanting to kick to over, he’s annoyed. 

“I can think of about a hundred other ways that can be taken care of,” Harry smirks, standing just behind Louis, clad in his sweater and a pair of boxers, “they all involve you.” 

A shudder of heat flows down Louis’ spine, making his arms tense, and Harry catches on immediately, staying quiet but close. “You’re swaying my focus.” Louis tries to sound harsh, he sounds more chocked. 

“Look, you want inspiration, I just want to touch you, this can be a win-win situation.” 

“Are you peer pressuring me?” 

“I’m not your peer, so, no. And I wouldn’t call it pressuring you, just opening your mind to some ideas.” 

“What kind of ideas?” 

Harry’s hands land on Louis’ shoulders, rubbing deep into the muscles. Louis’ eyes immediately flutter shut, head falling to the side, his breath coming out in light puffs. Harry’s hands continue to drop lower, his lips next to Louis’ ear with no warning, “You should paint in reds, oranges, y’know _hot_ colors.” 

“Why?” It’s a stupid question. 

“I wanna make you feel hot.” 

Before Louis can come back with a witty response, Harry’s fingers press in deeper, his other hand trailing down Louis’ arm. And his brain sparks, the little fire-hot tingles raising the temperature of his whole body. He can feel the breath on his neck, smooth and heavy, draping over his every pore. 

It’s all Harry, behind him, around him, touching him, exploring him. It’s all he feels. It’s all Harry. 

And his hand rises, hooded eyes watching the bristles as it dips into the bright red paint, following a trail onto the canvas. The petals are swiped in a short, rapid strokes, softer around the edges. It’s all the heat in his body and how it flows erratically, heart pumping in uneven beats. 

“Good, very good,” Harry whispers, pressing his lips just under Louis’ jaw, “keep going.” 

Louis doesn’t respond, only swallows, not bothering to clean the brush before submerging it into a neon saffron, a clutter of circles doted where the petals meet. There’s nothing neat or thought out about it, he’s just doing whatever his body is telling him. And his very core is alight and burning and that’s what the center of the flower will show, a loud heat, one that can’t be ignored. 

Harry’s lips continue, all the way down Louis’ neck, his tongue sliding out every so often and Louis almost drops the brush, limbs going weak but Harry holds his arm, breathes out a soft, “Don’t stop.” 

His teeth are scraping the sensitive skin, and the painting is being thrown deeper into the back of Louis’ mind as he becomes a prisoner of his own body, trapped and completely allowing every graze of Harry’s fingertips to have his full concentration. It’s only more obvious when Louis shakes his head, letting the brush fall to the floor with a quiet pang. 

“I know you’re trying to help, but I can’t focus, I need you to-“ The sentence is abruptly stopped when Louis decides to just _do_ instead of _say_. So, he drags Harry from behind him, pulling him to straddle his own hips in one swift movement, locking their lips together in the next. 

Harry’s hips immediately begin to grind down and Louis’ throat releases a deep growl in response. And _fuck,_ the painting, he doesn’t care about it right this second. He cares about the way his hands fall perfectly on Harry’s hips, feeling the muscles move as he pushes down onto Louis’ cock. He cares about the sloppy kissing, the smack of their moistened lips, the burning skin. Harry rocks so expertly, Louis can only imagine the feeling of him actually riding while Louis is submerged deep inside of him. 

“I feel you pressing into my jeans, Louis, you can have it if you want it.” Harry says, reminding Louis that he’s all so willing, the plea in his eyes making the ‘no’ on Louis’ tongue cement in place. 

“Harry-“ 

“At least let me suck you off, please.” Harry rushes out before Louis can continue.

When Louis doesn’t reply, Harry sinks down to his knees, pressing kisses to the outer part of Louis’ thigh over his jeans, and Louis can’t fight it anymore. He gives Harry a curt nod, sliding his body closer to the edge of the chair. 

Harry’s fingers go to work, quickly undoing the zip on Louis’ jeans and dragging them roughly down his legs. His eyes widen, mouth seeming to water when Louis’ fully hard cock is exposed, the sight making Louis almost come on the spot. Harry is just _so_ excited. 

He licks a bold stripe up Louis’ length, and the feeling is so overwhelming that Louis’ fingers dig into the side of the chair, white-knuckling to hold himself back. Once Harry looks up at him, peering through a forest of thick black lashes, Louis loses the hold on his words, “Oh fuck, Harry, you’re so fucking beautiful.” 

He smiles at that, wrapping his rose-pink lips around Louis’ head without breaking eye contact, lashes fluttering as his tongue swirls around the tip. 

Louis’ moan is the opposite of deep and raspy, its high and comes out more of a whimper. He has to look away in order to last longer than a few fucking seconds because Harry watching him while sucking his cock is too much at once and Louis could possibly explode. Harry’s tongue is working wonders at the base, lips suctioned around and Louis’ muscles are coiled tight, breathing in pants and clenching his teeth. 

“You’re so amazing, princess.” 

Harry’s own groan vibrates all the way through Louis’ cock and up his hips, making his knees shake despite the lack of pressure. The nickname always drives Harry wild, so it’s not surprising when he hallows out his cheeks to suck even harder, pulling every sense and ounce of heat from Louis' body all to one spot.

With Harry’s nails digging into the skin to repress a gag, the darkened color of Harry’s lips and the feeling of his flattened tongue on Louis’ shaft, he comes without warning, spurts flying down Harry’s throat as he takes Louis deep once more, not even flinching at the salty taste. The mess of curse words that string from Louis’ clenched mouth is incoherent and impossible to make out. 

“M’sorry, I should’ve warned you” Louis says when his voice is even enough. 

“It’s fine,” Harry smiles, his lips glossed, “I like it.” 

“Damn,” is all Louis can manage to get out in a short, heavy breath. Harry just laughs, licking the remainder of come from his lips and tucking Louis’ back into his jeans. 

When Louis looks back up, the “art” piece in front of him makes him snort out a half-hearted laugh. It looks like a hot fucking mess. The petals are uneven and sloppy, the yellow center is swirled into a glob and overall it’s a work any mom would love to hang on their refrigerator to honor their five year old child. 

But all it represents is Harry’s lips on his tingling skin, so he’s going to let it dry then keep it. All memories. 

“You were supposed to inspire me,” Louis says, keeping a sarcastic smirk on his face as he watches Harry come to a stand, knees a little wobbly. Like Bambi. “look at this mess.” 

“Mess?” Harry’s hand flattens over his heart, “this is art, Louis Tomlinson.” 

“Art my ass.” 

“Your ass is-“

“Harry,” Louis interjects, stopping Harry directly in his tracks, “if you try to hit me with that corny line, you’re sleeping on the street.”

Full, swollen lips pout out from Harry’s face as he mouths a ‘not nice,’ before shimmying deeper into his scarlet sweater. He’s so purely beautiful that Louis could easily stare at him for the rest of eternity, and then more. His curls are even messier, his face bloomed in a red blush, pupils blown into a wild forest green. Every inch of him just glows, radiates, Louis can feel it all the way to his bones. 

Harry’s true self shines brighter than any star in the sky and puts anyone else to shame. It’s tragic, really, how he had tried to dull and hide himself when beneath the surface was someone so perfect it didn’t seem real. In fact, if Louis hadn’t watched Harry shed away his shell, he’d think this was some sick joke someone was playing on him. Because no way, _no way_ , someone could be so attractive, funny, charismatic, sweet and at the same time actually have a thing for Louis. 

 _Louis_.

Who spends too much time shopping for decorations when he doesn’t have the money to spend. Who doesn’t feel at ease unless he’s surrounded by candles and cocoons himself in blankets when the world has become too much. Who has great fashion sense but doesn’t care to be around people who would admire it. Who tries so hard to be something so impossible, so rare. He’s kind of an embarrassment, but with the way Harry’s looking at him he feels like the most amazing thing on planet earth. 

You could say that, yeah, Louis’ starting to go a little crazy for Harry Styles. 

 

*****

 

 

“Y’know, sometimes it seems like the weather here is always grey.” Harry’s nose wrinkles, his leather jacket pulled tight over his torso, “always so cloudy and gloom.” 

“Or maybe you’re just a grump.” Louis shrugs, swaying heavily to the left to avoid Harry’s inevitable shoulder nudge of disapproval. 

“Me? Grumpy?” He squares his shoulder, “Never.” 

“Sure babe.” 

“Sure babe,” Harry repeats in a high voice, which earns him a hard smack to the chest, losing step and clonking his torn boot against the sidewalk. Bambi. 

“Hush and enjoy the breeze.” 

“How? It’s fucking cold, Louis.” 

“I told you that you could bring my thick lavender sweater, it’s the best one to keep you warm.” Louis reminds him, knowing for a fact that Harry won’t respond because he’s still inept on keeping his hard-boy exterior for the general public. Only soft and delicate in oversized clothing for Louis’ eyes. The silence falls briefly as Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him in and bringing his lips to his ear, “you look pretty in it, princess.” 

The giggle that slips from Harry is sweet and light, “That’s what I go for.” 

The park is empty today, spare a few dedicated cyclists and the occasional dog-walker. Louis’ gonna pin it on the fact that it’s not a pretty day by anyone’s standards. The sky is grey and covered in a thick cloak of clouds, wind whipping around non-stop and making the leaves on the trees rustle louder than necessary. 

It rained earlier, so it smells nice and Louis wants to enjoy it. Harry just _insisted_ on coming along and even though Louis knew he wouldn’t have a good time he couldn’t refuse Harry. Can’t say no, ever. 

They’re walking side by side, the soles of their shoes rubbing against the concrete and it’s a comfortable quiet. It’s easy and feeling Harry beside him makes it feel just like when Louis is in his flat, warm and serene and simple. Only the comfort isn’t coming from the decorations, or smells, or colors. It’s coming from one person with floppy curls and long, unsteady legs. 

“I might start wearing the sweaters out soon, I need you to help me pick some of my own out.” Harry says softly, not looking up from his own feet. 

“‘Course, love. Just tell me when.” He replies, and the words are unthought and unchallenged, “you gotta promise me you’ll still wear mine around the house, though, I love seeing you romping around n’em.”

“Promise.” 

The dingy leather jacket doesn’t look the same when it’s draped over Harry’s shoulders now. It feels out of place and he can tell Harry’s opinion isn’t much different. His body is more rigid than when he’s lounging back at the flat, when it’s only the two of them. There’s an obvious element of discomfort and it makes Louis want to punch something so he changes the subject instead.

“You’re growing your hair out.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Because Harry’s hair was perfectly layered and pushed back from his face when they’d first met. Now, the curls are wispy and fall almost to his jaw, framing his face. It’s nothing short of enchanting.  

“I- uh, I just haven’t had it cut in a while, must’ve forgot.” 

“Bullshit,” Louis rolls his eyes and Harry presses his lips together into a tight line, “you’re growing it out and I think you look amazing with it like that.” 

“Is it too-“ 

“Nope.” 

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Louis shrugs, “it’s fine, long hair or short hair, you’re beautiful either way. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’ll let mine grow out a bit too, shorter hair draws out my cheekbones though, so pick wisely.” 

The smile that spreads over Harry’s face is so tremendous it punches Louis right in the gut and takes the breath right from his lungs, “You’re serious? You don’t have to- you, you really don’t have to offer that, Louis.” 

“Would you like it if I waited to cut mine until you wanted me to?” Louis asks, and Harry looks away, shy. “Blink if you want me to grow it out.” He adds, and Harry breaks out in a laugh but blinks nonetheless. “So, it’s settled. We’ll grow it out together then.” 

It takes Louis completely by surprise when he is pulled into Harry, their lips locking and everything else floats away. The kiss is so full of emotion, it makes Louis’ whole body explode in an array of awakened electricity. Harry’s lips are hot and silken, moving fluidly as the cold air evaporates.

Harry’s voice causes Louis’ eyes to flutter open, meeting with a loud green, burrowing deep, “Thank you.” 

Louis’ hand raises to cup Harry’s cheek, thumb ghosting over the pronounced cheek bone. God, he’s so beautiful. “Anytime.” Is all he says in response, holding Harry in place as he reconnects their lips and lets himself forget everything but Harry for just a little longer. 

And he’s definitely going a little crazy over Harry Styles.  


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis learns that self control is a bitch.

The thunder is booming and Louis realizes that he _hates_ the weather here. 

It has to be nearing three in the fucking morning by now, and every single time Louis begins to drift off into sleep, the entire flat shakes and rumbles and there’s a bright-as-all-hell flash that peeks through the curtain and seems to fall directly onto Louis’ face. The rain hasn’t let up a bit since it had started around four hours ago, and from the sound of it, will only continue to get worst throughout the night. 

Louis comes to the conclusion that, no, he’s not getting any sleep tonight and, no, he’s not okay with that. 

He just continues to toss and turn and groan and murmur curse words under his breath and into the pillows. Another deep grumble jolts through his body and causes him to tense all over, waiting for the impending boom that’s sure to come at any second. The flat is silent albeit the occasional creaks and shit, for about three minutes and Louis takes the time to relax back into the sheets and let his eyes drift close. 

And then the loudest thunder yet ripples and his heart makes a leap and he admits that he’s fucking scared. 

Storms are usually not a bother, but ones of the this caliber are a little bit different when it comes to the stress level Louis’ feeling during the entire ordeal. It sounds like hurricane mixed with a tornado is whipping around just outside of his thin window and the harsh crackles and sharp flashes of light are doing nothing to appease the weary feeling thats floating persistently over him. He just wants to fucking _sleep_.

Its cold. And it’s loud and this bed feels too spacey and uncomfortable. 

It’s around that exact moment that a thought pops into Louis’ mind, and it doesn’t take more than half a second before his feet are planted firmly on the freezing hardwood and his blanket is tossed haphazardly to the side. His arms are crossed over his body, legs exposed up to a short pair of boxer briefs and the hem of a grey t-shirt that is entirely too big. 

It feels.. awkward. And unnecessary but for some reason Louis doesn’t rethink his decision as he trudges on towards Harry’s closed door. Once he finally reaches it, his heart manages to beat at twice the speed and the lightening lights up the door in a bright, menacing manner which makes Louis retreat back just a little. 

The first thing he wants to do is curl up next to him and feel safe. 

But he also doesn’t know how odd it would be to Harry if Louis’ in the same bed. Though he was just sucking him off earlier so it wouldn’t be all _that_ awful, would it? 

Either way, he’s paused in front of Harry’s door with his hand clutched in a tight fist and debating whether or not he should’ve just stayed in his own bed and accepted the sleepless night ahead. It reminds Louis of the time a storm even worst than this one made its way over his childhood home. He had been in tears, gripping the blanket and hoping if he squeezed his eyes closed hard enough, everything would stop. 

When that didn’t work, he slid out of his bed, his small legs dangling a bit before his feet could touch the ground and he beelined to the bathroom and steadied himself into the empty bathtub. He shut the shower curtain, bringing his knees up to his chest and breathing in and out, really slow. The thunder had caused his body to go frantic, and the thrusting wind banging relentlessly on the shutters only made it more dramatic. 

It took hours, exactly three hours and forty six minutes before the outside was settled and silent. Louis knows this because he counted down every single second. 

But now, he’s just as shaken and uncomfortable but his body isn’t pulling him to take refuge in his bathtub like before, but it's an overwhelming sense of security behind the door and right next to Harry. It’s being under his blanket with limbs intertwining and pulses beating when everything else is quiet. 

And then Louis’ hand is jutting out to twist the handle, a small relief flooding when it’s unlocked. The door makes a creak when it opens, but the bed stays silent and Harry remains stationary, fast asleep. 

His movements are slow and hesitant and he's holding his breath without even realizing it. 

By the time his knees are pressed to the side of Harry’s bed his heart is drumming in his ears loud enough to block out the thunder. He leans down, his weight balanced on the palms of his hands as he crawl beside Harry, whose already so hot it sends shivers down Louis’ spine and all the way to his toes. Just as he begins to lift the cover, the whole bed jolts with Harry’s movement. 

His eyes are confused and full of sleep, “Louis? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Harry spits out, his words slurred and rasped. 

“Yeah,” Louis nods, swallowing the embarrassment, “couldn’t sleep, is all.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Harry seems to relax, muscles melting back into the bed, “You can sleep in here, with me, if you want to?” 

“That’s what I was hoping for.” 

“Well, I didn’t know if you were hoping for something else.” Harry smirks, his tired face only making it look more adorable than sexual, his eyelids so heavy they could drift to a close any second. 

“Only you,” Louis doesn’t resist the roll of his eyes as he sinks in next to Harry, immediately pressing every inch of his body against his, “would wake up from a dead sleep and be horny.” 

“Just for you.” 

“Keep it soft, tiger, I’m just trying to get some sleep.” The statement is confirmed when Louis lets out a massive yawn, and Harry laughs deep enough to shake the both of them. 

A pair of arms pulls Louis in impossibly closer, Harry’s breath tickling his hair and the smell of his skin surrounding Louis in a beautiful familiarity. It’s warm, and close, and it feels like nothing can make this moment any more perfect. His front is pressed to Harry’s, Louis’ head resting on his chest. 

“What happens if I wanna be the little spoon?” Harry whispers, squeezing Louis in his arms for just a second. 

“You can be, baby, but hold me tonight because I’m scared.” Louis whispers back, pressing his lips against Harry’s chest and letting it linger there. 

“I thought storms didn’t scare you?” 

“They normally don’t, but-“ 

“This one is rough, I know, but it’s okay.” 

“I hate it.” Louis tries not to pout, suffice to say it doesn’t work. 

“Well I love it.”

“You like storms?”

“I do when they bring you into my bed, yeah.” 

“Oh, God.” Louis rolls his eyes behind his lids, the smallest of smiles creeping onto his face and he begins to wonder if Harry will eventually make it a permanent thing. Louis’ always had a resting face of curiosity or bitchiness, never thinking that he could be one of those people who constantly loved to smile and look like the world was made of sunshine and laughter and a lovely liquor.

“You’re acting as if you don’t absolutely adore my cheesy midnight confessions,” Harry mumbles into Louis’ neck, and his words seem to ride along every inch of skin Louis has until they’re tattooed there, “you love it and you know it.” 

“If you say one more word I’m going to roll out of this bed and leave.” 

“Is that a threat?” 

“Was that another word?” 

Louis’ smile widens when Harry just laughs, its high and more like a giggle and the sound is so positively beautiful that there’s a huge chance Louis will remember it even in his dreams tonight. And maybe tomorrow night. And maybe even forever. 

And he would be okay with that. 

The room falls silent again, but there’s a sort of lingering tension there that prevents him from easing into the ever-needed sleep that’s begging to overcome him. Judging by the way Harry’s breathing is uneven and light, he’s still awake too, but knowing him, he probably won’t say anything until Louis does. 

“I haven’t slept with anyone in a very long time.” Louis says, and his voice is low and he’s worried Harry may not have even heard it, but he continues anyway, “There’s this, kind of vulnerability you allow when you fall asleep next to someone, you know? And even though I’ve hooked up with people, I could never really sleep beside them. Maybe lay there with my eyes closed, tossing and turning, but never really went to sleep.” 

“You just weren’t comfortable enough.” Harry states, simple as day. “You needed to feel safe and secure and you didn’t.” 

“Yeah, yeah I guess so.” 

“You’re safe with me, Louis.” 

It feels like an eternity has passed before Louis can respond. His mind is too busy thinking into the words. Wondering; how comfortable do I really feel? And it goes even deeper when he questions how he feels around Harry in general and this overwhelming sense of security falls over him like a blanket and it’s warm and tight and just.. right. It feels right. Harry feels right. “I know.” 

“I-“ Harry starts, catching his words before they have the chance to slip past his lips, “I.. I think you should get some sleep, so you’re not grumpy in the morning and maybe I’ll make us some french toast.” 

“You mean you’ll _attempt_ to make french toast?” Louis corrects, earning a jab from Harry. 

“Already grumpy, I see.” Louis doesn’t have the chance to respond before Harry’s lips are pressed into his own. They’re warm, soft and gentle. There’s no heat or fervor behind the kiss, just the feeling a thousand words couldn’t hope to express. Harry pulls away too soon, the taste of him still prominent and lingering, “Goodnight, Louis.” 

“Goodnight, Harry.” Louis nuzzles closer into Harry, allowing his arms to engulf him and wrap him in a tight cocoon of tattooed arms and the smell of faded vanilla. 

And if he could, Louis would never leave this bed and Harry would hold him like this forever and that would be just fine.  

 

 

 

****

 

 

 

Waking up the next morning felt like being in some sort of dream state, everything was eerily perfect. The sun lit up the bedroom in the most relaxing glow, the shadows falling in blurred, dark lines. Louis could feel the easy breathing next to him, the rise and fall of a warm chest. His heart beat was low, steady and his eyes were still adjusting. The bed was hot, bare skin on bare skin, and chocolate curls were splayed onto the white pillowcase, swirling together in mess of tangles and waves. The calm atmosphere was settling, and Louis was too comfortable, too happy here to stand up. He looked over to Harry, unable to catch the gasp that slipped from his lips.

He looked so peaceful, not a worry in the world, all the stress alleviated from his being as he laid next to Louis. His features were soft, the color of his skin purely gold, looking like porcelain. Louis could see, and probably count, every black lash that fanned over his cheek. His lips pouted out slightly, his other cheek mushed against the pillow. He looked like an angel, and that was the only way Louis could describe him. His heart fluttered, a smile forming on his lips as he stared at Harry with an explosion of pure emotion in his eyes. 

This was the best morning he’d experienced by far.  

Harry looked like the personification of innocence, a childlike puffiness to his face from sleep. Harry was the only person in the world who, without words or touches, could make Louis’ whole body ignite in a wave of affection. Louis could stare at him all day long, just study the features of his flawless face, the face of a man who had looked so hardened at first, but now looked like he hadn’t a worry at all anymore. In the time that Louis spent with Harry, he watched as he slowly become himself, crawling out of the dark life he once knew as his only reality. 

Harry stirred under Louis’ stare, his mouth falling open slightly to release a deep breath, his eyes blinking before he settled back into sleep. In his small movement, he scooted closer to Louis, subconsciously only to rest his hand on top of Louis' chest, his fingers curling together into a partial fist. Louis placed his hand on top of Harry’s in the gentlest way he possibly could, so that he wouldn’t wake him. Surprisingly, Harry’s fingers lifted to hold Louis’ hand, their fingers intertwining into a tight embrace. 

There they sat, it could’ve been seconds, minutes, even hours but time wasn’t a measurement right now, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The only thing even remotely relevant was that Harry was here, and Louis couldn’t be happier.

Louis couldn’t help but bring his knuckles up to Harry’s cheek, shaky but light as he ran them over the soft skin. “Baby,” He mouthed, his voice too quiet for even himself to hear, “hi."

Harry’s skin was like silk underneath his gentle touch, and Louis felt as if his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. Harry’s eyes fluttered open, the radiant green of his iris illuminated by the sun shining through the window, practically glowing. He looked almost confused, but as soon as he spotted Louis, his lips turned into a beautiful smile. Every movement was slow and smooth, sleep still heavy on Harry as he tried to wake up.

“Good morning,” Harry said, his voice impossibly raspy, almost too hard to even understand. 

“Good morning” Louis couldn’t deny the adoration dripping from his voice, making it all too apparent he had been admiring him for a while now. 

“Already smiling?” Harry teased, squeezing Louis’ fingers, “You’re in a good mood today, I see.”

“Yeah, don’t ruin it."

Harry huffed out a sigh, rolling his eyes in unison. Louis sort of wanted to lay here all day, just soaking up the heat from Harry’s body as they cuddled together, pretending like nothing existed and neither of them had responsibilities or plans. Harry’s back popped as he stretched it out, arms above his head as he gave himself a couple more seconds to wake up before getting out of the bed completely. What a sight, Harry sleepy and half naked, his boxers slung low on his hips.

“You’re perfect,” Louis scanned Harry’s body, eyes landing on a sheepish smile.

“Perfect doesn’t exist, everyone has flaws, everyone is distorted somehow, some way.”

“Okay, calm down, just take the compliment.” Louis laughed at Harry’s suddenly deep words. 

“I’ll make us some coffee, I’m suddenly craving it.” 

“Sounds great,” Louis stretched, falling back down face first into the bed, “I’m just going to lay here and refuse to move.”

The room was quiet apart from the thudding of footsteps. Louis’ breath was knocked from his lungs as a heavy body jumped to lay on top of his back, hot breath running over his ear. The panting of lost breaths turned into laughter, Harry’s fingers digging into Louis’ sides, his body jerking wildly to try and free itself from underneath Harry. 

“Either you get up, or you get tickled, your choice.”

“Ok-okay, I- I’m getting up, Harry. Please!” Louis struggled, his face muffled into the bed and making his words hard to hear. 

Louis was pulled, flipped over on his back, Harry’s knees on either side of his body. Harry’s face was now hovering just over Louis’, their lips inches apart as Harry placed a hand on both sides of Louis' head. The kiss was soft, tender, and full of emotion as their lips melding into one another’s. Tingles spread all over Louis’ body, his hands automatically flying up to rest on Harry’s back. 

“Awake now?” Harry asked against Louis’ lips. Louis kissed down Harry’s jaw, sucking at the skin at the crease of his neck, bringing the blood to the surface, sure to leave a small love bite. 

“Mhm.” Louis hummed, connecting the kiss to Harry’s lips again. “Thought you were gonna make some coffee?” 

“I wanted to kiss you first.” 

“Okay, okay,” Louis squirmed, weaseling out from underneath Harry and bouncing onto his feet, “enough of the lovey dovey, If I don’t get some caffeine in me in the next ten minutes, shit’s gonna hit the fan.” 

“Literal shit?” 

“Harry, I-“ 

“Kidding,” Harry raises his hands, looking down at the floor, “all I’m saying is, you might not have to shit till you drink the coffee, since it acts as a laxative, but at that point shit won’t need to hit the fan anymore, so it’s kind of a, like-“ 

“I liked you a lot more when you were sleeping.” Louis murmurs, just loud enough for Harry to hear before stalking out of the room to throw on his robe. 

“And I liked you a lot more when you were being all cutesy.” Harry shrugged, smile nonchalant as he steps toward the cabinet to get the coffee. Being honest, Louis never thought having a roommate would turn out so well. That he’d be standing in the kitchen with his arms crossed over his stomach and watching as the most beautiful boy prepared the coffee pot. 

He mostly expected fighting, awkward silences and invasions of personal space being a regular occurrence. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Hey, Louis?” Harry asks, and his voice sounds hesitant, “can I ask you for a favor?” 

“Sure, anything.” 

“Would you wanna, like, maybe,” His words are jittery and unthought and Louis just raises his brows, waiting patiently for Harry to finish. It takes a few seconds and a deep breath, “wanna take me shopping later? Help me find some of my own clothes. You know, so you can have yours back.” 

“You know I don’t mind you wearing my sweaters, Harry. But of course I will, I’ve been hoping you would ask.” Louis admits, eyes flicking to the floor, toes running over the cool tile. 

“They look better on you, I think I need something my own size.” 

“I would have to disagree with you on that one, you look good in everything you wear.” Louis gives Harry a smile, just to further prove he meant every word he’d said, “Trust me.” 

“I do, I do.” 

“Okay well, we’ll finish eating, then get ready and go. Would you wanna grab some lunch afterwards or we can stop by the grocery and pick up something to make here instead?” 

“Hmm,” Harry’s fingers grip the base of his chin, eyes set in deep thought, “Lets stop and get some stuff to make lasagna and a chocolate cake.” 

“Oddly specific, but that works for me.” Louis nods, letting a deep inhale of coffee fill his chest. There’s nothing quite like the smell of freshly made coffee, it’s on Louis’ list of favorite smells. It takes number two, only beat by the smell that always seems to linger around Harry. 

The rest of the morning is spent eating (slightly) burnt french toast and the perfect cup of hazelnut coffee. It’s filled with jokes and the occasional pinch of Louis’ ass every time he goes to stand up. Of course, he always shoots Harry a look followed by a stern brow raise, which Harry just laughs off. 

It flows so easily. It’s almost as if Louis’ looking through a window of someone else’s perfect life. Like Harry doesn’t belong here, with Louis, he just makes everything seem so light and beautiful and it doesn’t feel like anything Louis deserves. 

His robe is fluffy and soft and he has the unobscured view of Harry’s body and his insides are warm and tight and his flat is clean and wonderful and the sound of Harry’s laughter and the shine of his eyes are filling all the senses Louis has. And it’s wild. Feels wild. 

It takes absolutely every ounce of self control Louis has not to take up Harry’s offer to join him in the shower in order to “save water.” Which, Louis has a slight feeling, is definitely not the reason Harry wants some company. The shudder that snakes down Louis’ spine and all the way to his toes has nothing to do with that imagery, of course. (It _really_ does.)

Harry’s shower takes up the majority of the hour, and Louis wonders how he can stay in there so long. Louis gets hot if he’s in there longer than fifteen or twenty minutes, it would be torturous to be in there any longer. But- Harry just hums and the occasional plunge of water hits the tile and echoes and it sounds content and not like he’s burning in hell, so. 

“Save me some hot water.” Louis shouts through the door. 

“What?”

“I said,” Louis raises his voice, “save me some hot water!” 

“What?” 

Louis’ hands twists around the nob of the door, peaking his head in and almost being suffocated by the sheer amount of steam that’s encompassing the room, “Holy shit.” He says through dramatic coughs. 

The shower curtain is jerked back instantly, Harry’s full, naked body on complete display and Louis’ brain goes straight to mush as his eyes make a beeline to the floor where Harry’s clothes lay in a pile. His face feels impossibly hotter and he just _knows_ it’s a bright, vibrant shade of red. 

“I heard you, babe.” 

“I, uh, yeah. Not trying to- like, you know. Um.” Louis words are hog tied in his throat and the base of his tongue and it feels like he’s choking on them. His eyes are glued to the floor, “Rush you, but-“ 

“Last offer to join.” 

“Harry.” 

“Okay, okay.” Harry pulls the curtain closed again, and Louis can finally breathe. “I’ll save you some if I’m feeling nice.” There’s a joking tone to Harry’s voice that he sucks at disguising, and Louis just rolls his eyes and lets out a “Mm hm.” 

“Gimme like- five minutes, and the shower is all yours.” 

“Deal.” Louis agrees, with a curd nod just before he closes the door. 

He’s trying so, so very desperately to ignore the throb in his pants, just aching now. Harry’s body is never anything short of amazing. Long, tanned torso. A beautiful, dark black array of tattoos swirling over his silken skin. If Louis had the opportunity and a bit less will power, he’d run his tongue all the way up Harry’s stomach, over his collar bones. Sprinkle little kisses and feel the heat rise, feel the way Harry’s chest would rise with each and every deep, pleasure filled breath. 

And fuck. Honestly, _fuck_. 

Louis' cock is throbbing now, painfully almost at the visual and Louis wants to bang his head against the wall. The shower is still running and Harry’s smooth humming doesn’t seem rushed. The real question is, can Louis really rub one out in less than five minutes? 

It’s more like three minutes now. 

And he comes to the conclusion that with the visual of Harry’s naked body and his panting moans echoing around in Louis’ head, yeah, he can. He can pretty fucking easily, actually. 

So, Louis presses his hand against the bathroom door, his other hand working fast to press into his bottoms. He’s already pulsating before his hand can even wrap around the base. He uses slow, steady but strong jerks, running his grip all the way to the top, his thumb tracing over the sensitive tip. 

His head is filled with images of him hovering over Harry, his front pressed to Harry’s chest and their skin rubbing into one another’s. There’s hot, thick air between their lips, caught up in their breaths and clinging to every whimper and moan. He can hear the squeaking of the bed springs, in sync with the pumps of his hand. 

He’s going so fast now, frantic when he can already feel the tightening of his stomach muscles, the heat in every bit of his body pooling and his head light, barely balanced with deep, raspy words bouncing off and leaving even more tension behind. 

The shower water steadies to a weak stream before it’s off altogether. And Louis’ hand is cramping with the speed, but his orgasm is there, it’s _right_ there. 

He can see Harry’s soaking wet body, his muscles moving beneath his skin. He can hear the deep grumble of his voice, remembering the sound of it faltering higher and airy, listening as he loses control. With his mind racing, his jaw tenses. The shuffling in the bathroom reminds him that time only continues to shorten, and when he hears a low, “fuck,” after a pang of something falling into the sink, the tension tightens until every muscle in his body is a coil, ready to spring. He comes so hard he can feel the breath knocked from his lungs, all the heat rushing to his core and dissipating, his head feels foggy. 

Every sense is light and airy, like a dream, but Louis still moves to grab some random article of clothing from the floor and wipe down his hand, his cock and maybe just a bit of the bathroom door.

The knob turns and steam pours out right as Louis’ throwing the clothes into a hamper, “This room is a mess,” he says, noticing the weakness in his own throat, and trying to hide the shade of pink that’s sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

“It is?” Harry looks around the almost-pristine room, “didn’t notice that.” 

Louis opens his mouth to speak, but decides to just give a curt nod in response. A white towel is the only thing covering Harry’s half naked body. It’s art, it really is. Everything about Harry is beautiful. The contrast of his skin and the fabric, the softness in his eyes, the sharpness of his jaw. He’s the most amazing combination of delicate and sensual, warm and inviting, striking and impressive. All bundled into one being, all bundled into Harry Styles.

“I should paint you, but that’d be insulting to how you truly look.” Louis thinks aloud, knowing the fond in his eyes is dripping. 

“Artists paint art,” Harry says, and before he can finish his sentence, Louis breaks in, “and that is exactly what you are, you’re a work of art.” 

“I disagree.” Harry shrugs, but a smile grows on his face. 

“I don’t care.” 

They mumble back and forth for a few minutes before Louis hops in the shower, rolling his eyes when the hot water turns ice cold in a matter of minutes. By the time he jumps out, goosebumps are covering every inch of his skin. He’s quite worried that he’ll catch pneumonia. And, no, he’s not being dramatic.  

The rest of the morning includes Louis ignoring a call from his dad, pretending to care about the not-so-friendly voicemail that ensued, and instead scrolling through Twitter and favoriting pictures of dogs. 

“When I call you, you answer your phone, Louis Tomlinson. I am still your father, and you still need to treat me with respect. We need to speak about your behavior, call me back.” 

How about no, dad, you can eat a dick, thanks. 

Anyway. 

They leave around one in the afternoon, heading towards a shopping center around thirty minutes from the flat. In there lies a little hidden treasure, or that’s what Louis calls it, called “Raven’s Boutique.” It’s when he’s purchased a lot of his own sweaters. They’re handmade, usually, with the softest fabrics and the most beautiful array of colors. Harry’s eyes light up when they enter, dance around the racks and Louis can almost feel the excitement. Like a small kid in a large candy store. 

“I don’t even know where to start.” Harry breathes, blinking back wide eyes. 

“Well,” Louis purses his lips, “start with colors that you like, that you feel compliment you.” 

“What do you think would complement me?” 

“Anything, really.” Louis shrugs, walking over to the rack of medium to large sweaters. Harry’s got a slender frame, but he’s tall, and he likes when the sweaters are a bit big on him. “I like this one.” He holds up a deep blue, and judging by the smile on Harry’s face, he likes it, too. 

Before long, Harry’s holding what seems to be a hundred sweaters in his hands. Colors range from all over the rainbow, but Louis is most excited about one in particular. It’s a very, very light pink, with a small rose on the bottom right. It’s knitted, and a bit tighter at the bottom hem. He knows it’ll look amazing on Harry. He tries them on one by one, giving Louis a cute little fashion show every time. 

When the only other person in the store, the cashier, starts to stock a rack on the other end of the store, Louis sneaks into Harry’s dressing room. Clothes lie all around, the bench, the floor, hung up on the wall. “How about a strip tease?” Louis jokes as Harry pulls off yet another sweater.

“I can’t dance.” 

Louis cocks a brow, trying to fight back a laugh as he pictures Harry trying to dance with his Bambi legs. “I’m sure you can.” 

“Oh yeah?” Harry teases, throwing one of the sweaters over his shoulder, then dropping so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, ass inches away from the ground, back arched. It’s sexy, up until he loses his balance and tips backwards, catching himself on the sleeve of one of the hanging sweaters and tearing it down with him. Louis bursts out in a fit of laugher, so loud that the has to cover his mouth. Harry rolls his eyes. 

“That’s it, I’m never being sexy for you again.” 

“No, no. Please do it again. Just do it in a padded room or something so you don’t break a bone.” 

“I’ll break _your_ bone.” Harry fires back, mock anger and shame on his tongue. 

“Good one.” 

The last one Harry tries on is Louis’ absolute favorite. The light pink one with the rose. When he see’s Harry in it, it feels like his heart is actually falling out of his ass. It’s even more beautiful than he’d imagined. Harry’s hair a mess of curls with the constant taking off and putting on of clothes, his eyes alight, the deep pink of his lips, there’s such innocence, such purity in the way he looks. It’s how he should always look, this happy. 

When Harry looks at himself in the full body mirror, his eyes flash with adoration and hesitance. But, he catches the look on Louis’ face from behind him, and any unsure emotion is lifted. Louis’ looking at him like he’s the only thing in the world. And right now, to Louis, he is. Harry looks to the floor, his black leather jacket peaking out from the disarray of colors and then back up to the mirror, a smile spreading over his face so wide that his dimples pop out on both sides. 

He buys every single sweater he tried on. 

And for the first time, they walk out of the store and Harry’s not wearing his leather jacket. He’s not wearing a black shirt, or a ratty band tee. He’s wearing a pink sweater with a tiny rose and he looks happier than he has in a long, long time. 

And he feels that way, too. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis encounter a bit of a speed bump.

Louis hoped that the day would become a bit less gloomy as it went on, but that didn’t happen. Clouds still rolled over in the sky, even getting darker grey. He’d been out with Harry all day, and he never stopped shining brighter than the fucking sun. He smiled, it was beautiful. He laughed, it was beautiful, and he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. 

“That was beautiful, Harry.” Louis’d said, and Harry ignored.

Louis had to admit, Harry in that baby-pink sweater was making the muscles in his stomach flip around, full on acrobatics, and his face felt hot. Everywhere they went, he glowed, strangers couldn’t keep their eyes off of him, the happiness he radiated was contagious. Proud was such an understatement. 

Of course, that leather jacket was still holding its place in one of the shopping bags. If Louis had his way, they would’ve thrown it in the nearest dumpster and never looked back. But, no, Harry wanted a “proper disposal" and Louis’ backbone vanished and Harry got what he wanted. But what else is new? 

It was only around 4 in the afternoon, and after being out an about all day, Louis decided he wanted to take Harry to the happiest place of earth. The place Louis went when he was sad, alone, confused, full of energy, or even just bored out of his mind. The place he felt most at home (if not by Harry’s side.) 

“Would you wanna go to the museum?” Louis asked, eyeing as Harry chugged a water bottle in under a minute, slightly impressed look on his face. 

“Sure.” 

“Wait,” Louis held up his index finger, “how can you expertly chug a water bottle without choking, but you can’t walk without almost breaking your ankle?” 

“I can walk just fine!” 

“How many times have you either sprained or broken a bone, Harry?” Louis’ brows shot up, and Harry thought for a second before pouting out his lower lip and breaking the eye contact. “That’s what I thought.” 

“I’ve never been to the museum.” Harry said, changing the subject, “I’ve never understood art.” 

“What’s there to understand? It’s an interpretation.” Louis bumped Harry on the shoulder, swaying as they walked along the sidewalk. The streets became emptier and emptier as the sky grew darker, “It’s whatever you want it to be.” 

“Or maybe you can just explain it to me, since you _are_ an artist and all.” Harry smiled, his dimple delving deep into his skin, and Louis’ body felt tight. 

“One does not simply explain art, my dear Harold.” 

“Calm down there Socrates,” Harry laughed, “I was kidding.” 

“No, you weren’t.” 

“No, I wasn’t.” 

“Anyway,” Louis blinked, “It’s one of my favorite places, I think you’ll have fun.” 

“I think I’ll have fun the same way that parents have fun when they take their kids to like, the science museum. I’ll have more fun watching you have fun.” Harry’s eyes are distant, but there’s a comical spark that lends Louis the idea that he’s trying to be serious, and failing. Miserably. 

“Right.” 

They banter back and forth a bit longer before they make it back to Harry’s car (Louis’ gonna get one soon, he’s sure of it.) And Louis’ directing him exactly where to go. You could put him anywhere in the city and he’d be able to find the museum without any problem, whatsoever. 

The road beneath them feels smooth and the silence in the car is relaxing, the only thing Louis can hear is Harry’s steady breathing and the drumming on his fingers on the steering wheel. He drives fast, turning corners and accelerating, and it feels like a rollercoaster. Louis’ stomach drops at the thought of being on the back of Harry’s motorcycle. 

Yeah, he’s definitely gonna take a ride on Harry’s motorcycle.

Louis feels like a giddy child when he see’s the roof of the museum over the grey horizon. He’s still waiting to hear back on when his first day will be. And he wants to make sure he’s not scraping the gum of the pristine floors before he shoves the news down his father’s throat. He’s played the scenario over and over in his head. 

_“Hey dad, it’s me, your worthless son. With his worthless hobby, that he foolishly calls a career. He’s got a job at the historical museum. Y’know, the one all your co-workers buy their expensive paintings from?”_

Knowing his dad, Louis could get a job as a surgeon and he still wouldn’t be proud. Honestly. It’s a good thing he doesn’t care. 

“This place is huge.” Harry’s voice is laced with awe, eyes wide. 

“Is it sad that I have it memorized?” Louis questions, opening the door and feeling the rush of cool air whip around his body. It feels like the temperature dropped ten degrees during their fifteen minute car ride. When he visibly shudders, Harry notices it almost immediately. 

“Do you want my jacket?” 

“Your leather one?” Louis replies, and his face looks like someone just smacked him, “I’d rather freeze to death.” 

“I think you’d look hot and badass in it, if I’m being truthful.” Harry shrugs. 

Louis thinks for a second, before shaking his head ‘no,’ and continuing, “I already look hot and badass. Nice try.” 

Harry nods in agreement, pressing the button on his key to make sure the doors are locked. Louis has always imagined walking away from some kind of fight or dispute, wearing black Ray-Bans and smirking, while pressing the button on his keys and hearing the car make that ‘beep-beep’ noise. Stupid, but he’s wanted to do that. Why? He has no clue. 

Louis tugs Harry along, their fingers intertwined in a vice grip. The woman behind the counter recognized Louis, giving him a friendly wave as they pass by. 

It’s like they’ve stepped over the threshold of a different universe. The walls beautifully colored with thought out, intricate brush strokes. The history of this place, the meaning behind each and every piece, dances in the air. Electric. Addicting. The blood rushes through Louis’ veins and the smile on his face widens. 

“You’re adorable.” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand. 

“You’re the adorable one, I’m the hot badass, remember?” 

“Oh, right.” Harry snaps the fingers on his other hand. He really is the cutest human being. And this is where he belongs, surrounded by things equally as beautiful as he is. And if Louis didn’t already hate himself enough, he would make some corny joke about how Harry’s meant to be in a museum. 

Louis takes the time to explain what he thinks is the meaning behind each art piece that catches Harry’s eye. Louis notices that he favors the more naturalistic ones, and takes note. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t care, but he’s endeared by absolutely everything that Harry does. It’d embarrassing, but at the same time its fun. It’s fun to feel the way his nerves react to Harry’s words, his lips, his every little thing. 

He notices that Harry brushes his teeth with his left hand, despite being right-handed. And that he sleeps better on his stomach. He has four-hundred black shirts, but prefers one specifically, because the fabric is softer. He flicks the switch on the side of his iPhone just to feel it vibrate. He rubs his feet together when he’s warm. He twirls the same piece of curled hair when he’s bored. He likes the smell of coffee but hates the sound of it brewing. 

Louis _might_ be a creep. Oh well.  

Louis snapped from his extremely specific thoughts when he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. Harry’s reading a plaque, so Louis doesn’t interrupt him, sidestepping and sliding to answer when he see’s Liam’s name on the screen. 

“What do you want?” 

“Wow, nice to talk to you, too.” Liam’s voice makes Louis roll his eyes. 

“Well, I hate lying, you know that.” 

“Yeah,” Liam coughs, “I need to talk to you.” 

“I don’t know if you knew this,” Louis pauses (for dramatic effect), “but you literally are.” 

“I meant in person, smart-ass, it’s important. It’s about Zayn.” Liam explains, and the dead seriousness in his tone drains the sarcasm from Louis completely. 

“Okay, okay.” Louis agrees, putting his hand up in defense. “Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Louis sighs, letting Liam know that he’ll be on his way in a few minutes. His heart sinks when he sees the light in Harry’s face as he’s looking at a sculpture. He’d meandered his way over, hands folded behind his back as he peers around the soft curves. Louis hopes he finds it as interesting as he did the first time he ever saw it. How he reveled in the rough texture and wondered how it looked so smooth. 

Harry’s eyes jump to Louis’ when he sees him approaching, and his face drops when he notices how the energy Louis had disappeared completely. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Louis shakes his head, “It’s just, Liam called.”

Harry nods, stepping to stand closer to Louis. “He needs me to come over and talk, he’s upset over something between him and Zayn.” 

“Oh, do you know what happened?” 

“No idea, he just sounded pretty serious.” 

Harry just nodded, a few seconds passing before he looks back up at Louis, “How about I hang back here while you go? Just meet me when you’re done. I wanted to see a few more exhibits.” 

Louis blinked back a bit of shock. Safe to say, that was _not_ what he was expecting Harry to say. He didn’t even know if Harry liked being here, let alone wanting to stay while Louis wasn’t around. He can’t hide the stunned look on his face, and Harry laughs, leaning his weight onto one leg, “I wanna see what you love so much about this place.”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Louis teases, “it’s the art.” 

“Go away.” 

“Okay, okay.” Louis agrees, letting Harry know that he’ll call him as soon as he gets done talking to Liam. He’s still upset with him, Louis’ always been great at holding grudges, but he’s not gonna let him suffer alone if he’s genuinely hurting. Liam and Zayn have been in a serious relationship (his dad still calls Zayn his ‘good friend’) and if something happened, Louis knows that Liam would be absolutely devastated. 

Harry, with all the kindness he hides from the universe, let’s Louis borrow his car to drive to Liam’s, even though the walk isn’t very far by anyone’s standards. And though the last thing Louis wants to do is leave his boy, adorned in a light pink sweater, behind in his favorite museum, he gives him a quick kiss on the lips to say goodbye. 

Safe to say, it takes every muscle, combined with sheer willpower for Louis to break the kiss. Harry just tastes so fucking good. Hazelnut has always been the top flavor in Louis’ hypothetical book of favorites, but the sweet of Harry’s lips knocks it out completely. The list now reads: 

 _Favorite tastes;_  

_1\. Harry’s lips._  
_2\. Harry’s lips._  
_3\. (can you guess?) That’s right, Harry’s lips._

He’s kind of whipped, oops. 

 

****

 

 

 

Liam’s flat gives Louis the absolute heebie-geebies. It’s bland. Boring. Dark wood, white curtains, Navy blue accents. It mainly looks like a hotel room. A hotel room made for people who hate color. Don’t get Louis wrong, he appreciates the beauty in more simplistic designs, but this is just awful. He wants to throw the accent pillows out the window and bring in.. maybe a mint green? That’d look good with the deep mahogany floors. Louis nods along at his own genius, as Liam sit’s impatiently on the couch. 

“Are you quite done scrutinizing my place yet?” 

Louis gives the flat one more glance, placing an obviously fake, exaggerated smile on his face, “Sure.” He takes the seat next to Liam, frowning at the rock hard cushions and leaning back. 

“So,” Liam starts. He’s leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, idly playing with his fingers, “I think Zayn is seeing someone.” 

“I’d agree,” Louis nods, “He’s been seeing you for quite some time now.” 

“I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm right now, Louis, I’m really worried.” 

“You think he’s cheating?” Louis’ brow raises. He instantly recalls all the times he’s watched Zayn’s eyes light up when he looks at Liam. Observed the smile he always has in Liam’s presence. It’s like love is tattooed all over his face. “Why on _earth_ would you think that?” 

Liam sighs, and Louis can see how the worry has drained the energy from his eyes, “He’s been distant, shutting me out. Even when we sleep together, it’s like he can’t stand to touch me.” 

“Could be stress.” Louis sits up, shoulder-to-shoulder with Liam and ignoring how small he feels next to him. “I know that sometimes when I’m under extreme stress, I tend to keep to myself. I don’t want affection, I don’t even want anyone to talk to me, let alone try and cuddle with me. It’s not unusual for someone to be under that kind of strain and react by kind of, distancing themselves.” 

“Zayn isn’t like that though.” 

“Have you tried talking to him about this?” Louis asks, and he feels Liam let out a huge sigh. He takes that as a ‘no.’

“Let me ask you something,” Liam says, and Louis swallows, “how would you feel if Harry started being distant, for no reason? Like his personality flipped and he just.. wasn’t the same? Would you go and talk to him? Would you try and find out for yourself? What would you do?” 

The sound of Harry’s name makes Louis feel heavy, it feels different coming from Liam. It feels different in the room. He doesn’t like it. The heat in is face is more than obvious, and he tries to look down, picking at the cuticles on his nails and trying to steady the sound of his own voice, “W-what do you mean? We’re not- um, me and Harry aren’t-“ 

“I’m just saying,” Liam interrupts, “someone you know, you know very _well_ is acting weird and being shady, how would you feel?” 

“That’s not the same.” Louis responds, almost whispers. And the sad thing is, it’s exactly the same. Up until now, Louis’ never admitted to it, but Harry is his. And he fully belongs to Harry. Even the thought of being with someone else, or Harry being with someone else, makes Louis sick to his stomach. He ignores the tingling in the back of his throat and the tense pull in his muscles. It makes Louis feel exactly what Liam is going through, “But I get what you’re saying.”

Liam nods, he’s trying not to cry. 

“Look,” Louis’ voice is soft, “you’re worried, you have a good reason to be. But I think you should just talk to him. Sit him down, just the two of you, and ask him if everything is okay. Don’t sound accusatory, just curious, and caring. This is Zayn, you know him better than anyone, give him the chance to tell you what’s going on. You always assume the worst.” 

“Do you blame me for assuming?” 

“No,” Louis admits, “but he deserves the chance to explain, y’know? I think he loves you.” 

The room is silent. And just under his breath, Liam’s voice is light as air and simultaneously heavy, “You don’t know what love is.”

And, ouch. 

Fucking _ouch._  

Louis gets up, wordlessly. Anger bubbles in his stomach, his mind races, feels like a million miles an hour. Because that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that just because Louis’ not in some long term relationship, that he doesn’t know what ‘love’ is. He actually has a pretty good fucking idea, thanks. When he remembers how to speak, and can disguise the hurt that’s deep in his tone, his tells Liam, “Then maybe you shouldn’t be asking for my advice.” It sounds stronger than it feels. 

Louis knows that love is putting someone before yourself. Their happiness is made to be a priority of yours. And you find yourself wanting the world to be on their side, find yourself wishing that you were everything they needed, they wanted. You know the tiniest things that make them, _them._ The things they like, don’t like, tolerate. You think about them, dream about them. And suddenly your future looks a lot more bleak without them in it. You study the features of their face and you know deep down, you could never forget. Engraved is the curve of their lips, the freckle, that lash that never wants to curl just right. The way one eye looks smaller when their smile is so big. 

And every emotion in the world comes crashing down on you, and it scares you, it excites you, because you feel ready and at the same time you don’t. But you’re willing to lose it and jump in and know that they’re gonna catch you. 

Like two hearts, melting into one. 

He plans to storm out, but the dancing sound of his ringtone stops him in his tracks. Liam doesn’t even look up. 

He’s surprised when the name that pops up isn’t Harry’s, but rather, Niall’s. “Hey,” Louis answers, grabbing Harry’s keys from the counter. He doesn’t look back as he leaves the flat. 

“Where are you?” 

“Leaving Liam’s, why?” 

“You’re not with Harry?” Niall asks, and Louis’ brow raises in confusion.

“I’m about to meet him at the museum.” The sky is black and rain is falling in heavy droplets now. Louis half-jogs (fuck running) to Harry’s car, trying to keep his phone from getting drenched. When he’s in the car, the rain makes it sound muted, just the thumping of water on metal. “Is everything okay?” 

“Harry isn’t at the museum,” Niall says, and it sounds so sure, Louis’ stomach knots, “I’m looking at him right now, he’s at the bar with some uppity dude. Been here for about an hour.” 

An hour? It’s been that long? 

“What?” 

“Yeah,” Niall breathes, Louis can tell he doesn’t want to say what he’s about to say. That makes Louis’ heart pound. “He’s um, really drunk, Louis. This guy is buying drinks for him like the bar is going out of business. Keeps touching him. I don’t think he has very good intentions.” 

Louis wants to tell Niall to go and talk to him, to see what’s going on. Then his vision starts to go black and words aren’t an option. His phone is thrown over into the passenger seat, and Louis can hear Niall through the speaker, “Louis? Are ya there? Louis?” 

It feels like something inside of him just disconnects. 

The sound of his voice was a thousand miles away. And Louis’ foot was pressing the pedal down and ignoring the roar of the engine and the squeal of the tires over wet pavement. Lights flew by, and the grip on the wheel was so tight, his knuckles went white, his fingers started to ache, but he couldn’t care less. Couldn’t even bother to try. 

He’s pissed. He’s fucking furious. The clench of his jaw is making his head throb. Because no, this dude isn’t going to get Harry drunk and no, he’s not taking Harry home. No. Absolutely fucking not. 

He doesn’t think about why Harry is there in the first place. He just focuses on the road. “What bar?” Louis asks, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s strained, deep, it sounds more like a growl. He hears Niall reply from the passenger seat, “Buster’s Pub.”

Niall starts to ask if Louis’ okay, probably for the hundredth time. But Louis loses focus when he sees the neon sign from the bar lighting up through the down-pour of rain. He whips into the parking lot, jerks the key out of the ignition, not bothering to grab his phone from the passenger seat. The car door slams behind him, and he feels like a bomb about to explode. Tensed. Infuriated. All mixed with Liam’s accusation, topped with the thought of anyone taking advantage of Harry. Of his Harry. 

No. 

No. 

His shoulder bumps strangers as he walks in. The curse words thrown his way bounce off of him. Doesn’t even begin to phase him. And his mind is blurry and his thoughts are a jumbled mess, trying so desperately to gain control of his body. Failing. He doesn’t even realize that he’s clenching his fists so tight that his nails are digging into his skin. The thud of his heart beats in his temples, he’s shaking, trying to find Harry. 

When he spots those delicate curls, sees the glaze over his eyes, watches the way he falls over to the side, his whole body like jello. And a foreign hand catching his shoulder, other hand on his waist, steadying him. His vision goes white.

The chattering, the voices all around are like a distant mumble. And Louis’ eyes follow the hand, right to a sparkling Rolex watch. And it takes a second before his over-wired brain makes the connection that, yeah, he’s seen that watch before. His eyes continue, ignoring the shake of his body, traveling up an expensive black suit, and up to a disgustingly familiar face. 

“Royce.” 

His voice is so low, it’s barely audible. He shoves through every drunk, stumbling body that’s blocking the path between him and Harry. The closer he gets, the more he feels the control slipping from his finger tips. “Royce.” 

Harry’s eyes connect with Louis, and it’s not Harry, its a daze. Confusion. Like he recognizes him but can’t put two and two together. Royce’s hand jerks back from Harry’s waist, but by then it’s too late. Way too fucking late. When Louis’ fist connects with his jaw, an audible crunch is heard, and he’s stumbling back into the bar, glasses crashing and shattering along the tattered floors. 

Before Royce has the chance to recover, Louis’ hands are wound into the front of his shirt, and he’s got him pressed against the bar top, their faces only inches apart, “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing with him?” 

“I didn’t know he was taken-“ Royce begins, there’s not a hint of regret in his eyes. A deep red trickles from his lower lip along his jaw. 

Royce shoves Louis back, rearing his arm back and throwing his fist directly at Louis with as much force as he can possibly muster. Louis ducks, dodging the hit, swinging one and colliding with the left side of Royce’s face. 

“Louis,” He hears, slurred and light. For the first time, he really looks at Harry. Sees the dingy black leather jacket is replacing the pink sweater, seeing how the glow is replaced with a drunken stupor. “Louuissss.” He drawls out, swaying back and forth in his chair, loopy, completely out of his mind. “Louis Tomlinson, hi there.” 

And for a moment, it feels like the world slowed down. Barely spinning, he can barely think straight. He see’s Royce stand up, immediately coming towards him, he sees the crowd of people surrounding them and hears them yelling. He only _really_ sees Harry. And behind the glossy sheen of his eyes and the crooked smile, he can see the tiniest hint of pain. 

And the world turns again and Louis snaps back, he takes a hit a stumbles back a few steps, using the momentum to fall forward and take Royce with him. He doesn’t feel any pain, he can’t feel the sting, he ignores the trickle he can feel below his eye. He’s only focused on positioning himself so that he’s straddling Royce on the ground. And as soon as his fist reconnects with his face, his blind fury takes over. 

He hits again. 

“Don’t ever,” 

Again.

“ _ever,_ ”

Again.

“Speak to him, look at him, think about him, ever again.” Louis snarls, and Royce sputters. Hands rush to pull Louis up and back, dragging him through the crowd of people. He’s still yelling at the motionless boy on the floor, but he doesn’t even know if his words are English. All he knows is that he never wants to see Royce anywhere near Harry again. And he doesn’t think he will. 

 

The air outside is cold, his whole body is soaking wet. There’s a dull pain behind his eye and along his cheek bone, and he can finally feel the stinging pricks of glass embedded in his hands. He doesn’t even know how they got there. Half of him feels barbaric, ridiculous, dramatic. The other half feels like he’s lifted a thousand pounds from is shoulders. The owner of the bar called the police, who talked to Louis for about twenty minutes. Luckily, they called it a drunken bar fight and left it at that. 

Louis’ still sure that Royce is gonna press charges. He doesn’t care. 

“Can I talk to Harry?” He says, his voice soft, he sounds like himself again. The cop nods and when Louis stands to go back in the bar, he presses a hand to his chest. “I’ll get him, you’re not allowed back in there.” 

“He’s wearing,” Louis swallows, “a black leather jacket. Curly brown hair, green eyes, tall.” He feels like the description doesn’t do Harry any justice. 

It takes a few moments before Louis can see Harry emerging from the front doors. He still stumbles, but looks a million times better than he did earlier. Louis can’t look him in the eyes. He can feel the burn of Harry’s stare. 

“Louis,” He says, quiet, standing directly in front of him, “Let me see.” He feels Harry’s hand cup his cheek, bringing his face up so that he can see the bruise forming on his skin. “Louis, no..” 

“It’s fine.” He shrugs off. 

“Why did you do that?” Harry asks, as if he didn’t already know the answer. 

“Niall told me everything. Saw that he was trying to get you drunk, had his hands all over you,” Louis sees Harry swallow, eyes dropping to the pavement, disgust evident in his eyes, “I knew what he was trying to do.” 

Harry just shakes his head, Louis can see the muscle of his jaw clenching. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt over me.” 

“Why were you with him?” Louis asks, trying to hide the hurt in his voice. He knows for a fact that he did a pretty shit job. 

Harry grabs Louis’ hand, walking him to the car. He holds the door open for Louis to get in the passenger seat, but when he sees the look Louis’ giving him, he sighs and gets in instead. He’s still tipsy, there’s no way in hell that he’s driving anywhere. Once they’re in the car together, he hears Harry’s rugged, broken breathing. He doesn’t look at Harry. He knows that he’s crying. 

He can’t see that right now. 

“I ran into him at the museum, I was looking at a painting that reminded me of you. It looked like something you would do. Y’know, because you like flowers?” He slightly slurs the last word. Louis hates alcohol right now. “He immediately started making fun of me, saying the worst things Louis, you wouldn’t believe-“ 

“Don’t tell me.” Louis warns, “He’s still in there, you should probably wait a bit on that one.” He gives Harry a half-assed smile to make his tone less menacing. 

“I just kind of, broke down. I went to the bathroom and changed. I felt ugly. I tried to remember what you told me, but I couldn’t think. I was so embarrassed. He was outside the door when I came out, said he didn’t mean it and wanted to apologize over a few drinks. I didn’t believe him at first, but he kept trying and trying, he seemed sincere. Like he really was sorry.” 

Louis wants to tell Harry that he shouldn’t have gone, that he should’ve called Louis instead. But he doesn’t think that feels right. He feels a deep sinking in his chest when he realizes that none of this would’ve happened if Louis had just been there. He should’ve been there. 

“I told him I didn’t want to drink.” 

Louis’ hand sits delicately on top of Harry’s thigh, calming him down. He still can’t look at Harry, he can’t see the pain that’s all over his face, “He took advantage of you, this isn’t your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have gone.” 

Louis shakes his head no, clenching his teeth to prevent his own fucking breakdown. “No, I should’ve been there for you.” When Harry tries to disagree, Louis stops him before the words even leaves his lips, “Please, don’t. Lets get you home, grab you some food and something to drink.” 

“Aren’t you worried about your eye?” 

“No,” Louis gives Harry’s thigh a squeeze, “I think it looks pretty badass, don’t you?”

Harry laughs, and the sound is so beautiful it makes Louis smile. He loves the sound, he didn’t realize how much he loved that sound. “It does.” He agrees, “You’re a little badass.” 

“Little?” Louis raises his brow, ignoring the pain that shoots down his eye, “I’ll make you walk home.” 

“This is my car.”

“But who's the one driving?” Louis argues, finally looking Harry in the eyes and feeling relief wash over him when he sees a hint of humor, and that dimple embedded in his cheek. And, wow. His hair is disheveled, lips a deep pink. He’s stunning. Louis would get into a bar fight without absolutely anyone for him. 

Louis puts the car in drive, trying not to smell the faintest hint of vodka as Harry speaks, “I didn’t know you could fight.” His voice is impressed. “I find that sexy.” 

“Yeah? I didn’t know I could fight either.” 

“I’ve never seen you that mad.” 

“I’ve never had a reason to be.” And for some reason that causes the smile on Harry’s face to widen, and he sits back, gazing out of the wet windshield. The street lights look like orbs, the road reflects and it turns the night sky various shades of red and green. 

“When we get home,” Louis gives Harry a stern look, “I want you to put back on your sweater. And we’re gonna burn that jacket. Okay.” 

“I’d love nothing more.” Harry agrees, simply. 

He feels Harry’s fingers intertwine with his own and the warmth travels all the way up to his heart and lingers there. And his whole body is warm and a little fuzzy. He never wants this feeling to go away. And with Harry beside him, it’s like he’s falling helplessly and he’s okay with that. 

Because he knows Harry will catch him. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words are said, things are done, it's about fucking time.

Embers crackle in a flurry above the open flame, bright oranges and yellows whirling around against the black of the night sky. The pops and snaps echo around and bounce off the barks of the trees, it’s incasing, and loud despite the deafening silence that floats feverishly between them. 

Louis’ hand rests on Harry’s thigh, his thumb drawing tiny circles and probably leaving a permanent trail over the black, rough material. Harry breathes in, eyes dancing with the flame. And Louis knows that his mind is a torrent of wild thoughts and uncertainty. His pupils are wide and the radiant green shrinks to a sliver. 

The air is chilly, despite the fire being only a few feet away. Louis’ feet slide over the prickly blades of grass, feeling them between his toes. He hates the silence, but doesn’t make any move to disturb it. He can almost hear the gears turning in Harry’s head, remembering, deciding, preparing. 

It’s been like this for a while, maybe about half an hour. Louis’ perched on another lawn chair, sat as close to Harry’s as it could possibly be. There’s nothing but support radiating off Louis and he hopes Harry is soaking in it. For him, he’s not just burning an old jacket, he’s ridding himself of something that gave him so much comfort when he needed it most. 

Louis can’t help but glare at it like it was mocking him from the other side of the fire. 

“This is stupid,” Harry’s voice is so quiet, Louis has to strain to hear it, “it’s just a damn jacket.” 

“It represents more than that,” Louis comforts, eyeing the sky blue sweater incasing the upper half of Harry’s body. Louis tried to sew a tiny rose above the hem, but failed miserably, so theres a hole instead. 

Harry said it, “gives it character.” 

Louis sighs slowly, letting his lungs inflate until it hurts as he watches Harry’s face harden as he stares into the encompassing heat, an indentation from him chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You don’t have to do this tonight.” 

“I want to.” 

Louis nods, grabs Harry’s hand and squeezes it tight. He wants him to know that he doesn’t need that fucking piece of leather anymore. He doesn’t need anything to cover him up, as if he wan’t going to outshine it anyway. He doesn’t need to pretend to be something he isn’t anymore because he has someone who adores him just the way he is. 

Big sweater and unruly curls. All of it. 

He feels the tightening tension and resistance, but he also can’t help but feel a bit more complete. And he finds that he always feels this sort of security when he’s next to Harry. Like all the planets aligned and all the shitty moments and stressful nights led up to this, sitting next to him, and only wishing he could be even closer. 

He wants so badly to spill the contents of his desire into the open, but the letters are tangling together and he’s not sure if he’s going to say it right. Or if its even the right time to say it. 

Louis plays with the words that are turning cartwheels on the tip of his tongue. He watches the shadows play, tries to fight the dry and itchy feeling in his throat. He clenches his jaw tight, jumping back and forth, mentally swaying and debating. Finally, he closes his eyes, shifts his face away from Harry just slightly, and, 

“I love you.” 

The air between them becomes static and stoic at the same time. The only thing he can hear is the sharp intake of breath beside him. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” Louis adjusts himself uncomfortably in the plastic chair, trying to take the weight off of the space surrounding them. “It’s not really a surprise, is it?” 

“It absolutely is.” Harry counters, his eyes blown wide, black lashes fanning, shocked. He looked completely taken by surprise. 

“Of course I do,” Louis softens his voice, “how could I possibly not?”

Harry blinks, taking his lower lip between his teeth. His eyes, his beautiful eyes drop to his lap and Louis’ stomach sinks. He swallows, ignoring the burn in his throat. A burn that spreads all over his chest. He shakes his head, trying desperately to back track. “Harry, I- I didn’t, I didn’t mean to say, like, I just-“ 

His words battle in his mouth, his mind pushes more than he can handle. And his heart clenches so tight it hurts to breathe because he’s a hundred percent sure he just saw a drop of water fall onto Harry’s jeans. 

“Baby, please don’t cry. I’m sorry.” Louis’ voice is desperate and weak, cracking on the last word. His hands shuffle to find Harry’s, gripping them tight, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“Why?” Harry’s voice is quivering, Louis wants to drop to his knees. 

“W-why what?” 

“Why do you love me?” Harry still won’t look at him, and every time Louis tries to make eye contact, Harry tilts his face further away. His question is so small, it oozes desperation. Like he doesn’t want to know, he _needs_ to know. 

Louis inhales, trying to keep his emotions at bay. It’s such a simple answer that he doesn’t have to even think. “I love you because you’re strong, the ambiance around you is so refreshing. soothing, it’s addictive. I find myself aching to see you smile, to hear you laugh. The time I spend around you burns into the best part of my memories. You make my heart race, you make my body warm. I’ve never felt more adhered to a person than when we touch.” 

“Watching you grow and show me the parts of you that you’ve buried so deep, has been such a privilege. It’s amazing. I can’t imagine my days without you, and I don’t want to imagine a future where you’re not there. I love you, Harry, I do.” 

Harry’s hand tightens around Louis’ and for the first time since those three words left his lips, Harry looks Louis in the eyes. His face is full of so many emotions that Louis can’t even begin to read them. But, all he cares about is the sudden feeling of Harry’s lips on his own. 

His cheeks feel wet, his breath is hot cascading over Louis’ face. The burn of the passion igniting from the surface of their skin is overwhelming. Louis feels his muscles tense, feels Harry’s fingers twist into Louis’ hair, tugging, aching to be closer. Louis moans into Harry’s mouth, a deep, rasped sound. 

“I,” Harry’s voice is light, airy, “I love you, too.” 

Louis’ hand grips Harry’s waist, dragging him in, his body like a magnet. The weight of Harry’s body shifts to his lap, legs on either side as Louis scoots up to the edge of the chair. He’s not sure the flimsy plastic will hold him, but all he can think about is the smooth, slow grinding of Harry’s hips, the way he rolls to be impossibly closer. And Louis’ hands sliding beneath his sweater, raising bumps all over the tender skin. 

Harry pushes further, leaning Louis back, his lips harder and harder on Louis’ own. His kisses are getting sloppier, more desperate, he’s all but begging. 

“You say,” Harry breathes, “you love me?” 

“Mm, I do.” 

“Alright,” Harry breaks the kiss, eyes glowing, lips swollen and bright pink, “then show me.” 

 

**

The walk was short from the patio area behind Louis and Harry’s flat. He left the fire burning, left the chairs, left the leather jacket. He led with Harry close behind, their fingers interlocked. Sweat traveled down Louis’ neck, tickling over the skin and making his nerves more than obvious. 

Harry’s breath bounces off Louis’ back as he slides the key into the lock. His eyes roll as he feels Harry’s lips press onto the side of his neck, his key snagging in his shaking hands. 

Once hidden behind the door of their home, Louis turns on his heel, pressing Harry against the door and reconnecting their lips, moving slow, torturous. Voices mingle in the air, soft and rough. Louis’ fingers on Harry’s skin, the tips memorizing every light curve and hidden crevice. 

The fabric of his sweater is pulled over his head, and in the brief moment his mouth feels cold. Harry’s body is beautiful in every sense of the word. His tattoos are deep and swirled, his long muscles tensing as he pants heavy breaths, it makes Louis’ bangs flutter over his forehead. Harry’s eyes are almost completely black, hungry and crazy. 

Louis really understands that on a personal level. 

On one hand, he wants to take it slow, make it go on and on and work Harry until he can’t handle it anymore, make his whole body explode in flames of ecstasy. And, on the other hand, he wants it to be hot, hard, gritted teeth and crumbled sheets and bodies so drenched in sweat that it puddles on the mattress. 

He wants to call him a princess while he's bent over, watch as each moan shivers from him and his hips jolt with a twisted electricity. 

His eyes are a window into every thought and fantasy as he shares it with Harry, the eye contact between them so charged it makes their hand stand up. 

“Come on,” Louis tries to whisper, it comes out gravelly. Harry follows immediately. 

He leads Harry to the bedroom, walking him backwards toward the bed. When the back of Harry's thighs hit the edge he falls to a sitting position. The way he’s looking up at Louis through hooded eyes and a forest of lashes, mouth open and tongue sliding out to wet his lips, is so _painfully_ sinful. 

Fuck, Harry. 

Louis takes the time to back up, letting Harry’s hand fall to his lap. He shuffles around the room, opening the drawer and pulling out a lighter, going to each candle and igniting the room in a sensual glow. The flickering of the flame makes Harry look ethereal, stunning, leaned back on the palms of his hands and never letting his eyes stray from Louis. 

“How do you want this?” Louis asks, stepping slowly closer to Harry. “Soft, hard? Fast, slow?” 

“I just want you inside me before I lose my fucking mind.” 

And with that, Louis drops the plastic lighter onto the hardwood with a loud clank. It takes barely a second for his lips to be back on Harry’s. To press into him until he’s leaned back, Harry’s knees raising on either side of Louis’ hips. 

His fingers tug at the fabric of the shorts Harry's wearing, dragging them down his impossibly long legs, feeling Harry grind up against Louis as soon as the clothing falls to the floor. He’s painfully hard, so is Louis, their bodies responding to every touch, over sensitive. 

Harry’s fingers jumble with the button on Louis’ pants. He grabs Harry’s hands interlocking them together and bringing them to rest above his head. He’s so easy to move, to direct, he moans and squirms under Louis' control. Louis’ lips travel to Harry’s jaw line, down his neck, teeth scraping against his skin. 

“Holy… holy _fuck._ ” Harry breathes, leaning his head back further into the bed. 

Louis continued to kiss down, expertly dropping from the bed as his tongue caresses Harry’s stomach, his hip bone, the inner part of his thigh as he undoes his own pants, sliding them off. Harry’s leg raises, aching so fiercely for Louis’ mouth to be closer, his hand laced in Louis’ hair, digging deep and pulling at the roots. 

“No, no.” Louis tsk’s, “no, touching, baby.” 

He pins Harry’s hand back down on the bed, earning a high whine and another roll of Harry’s body. He wants it so, so bad that Louis can taste the desperation on his skin. He moves his lips over Harry’s lower stomach, and wrapping around the base of his dick, he can hear Harry grinding his teeth. 

His tongue slides up, lips around the tip as he dips his head and swirls. Harry’s hand twitches like he wants to move it, he clenches a vice grip on the sheets to hold them in place. Louis knows if he keeps working Harry like this, he’s going to come, so he moves lower, one hand still pumping while the other eases his legs open a bit more, allowing him more access. 

He wets his lips, hearing Harry’s breathing speed up as he gets closer to the hole, making sure he’s getting it as wet as possible. Harry’s leg is already shaking, so Louis holds it still with one hand, using his other to guide one finger into Harry. He pumps it slowly, in and out, making sure to kiss and lick every few times. When he slides another finger in, Harry starts to move with his rhythm. “Louis, fucking p-please.” 

Louis smiles, removing his fingers and quickly leaning over to the dresser, opening the top drawer and grabbing a condom and some lube. Harry’s naked body is a sight Louis feels blessed to have seen in person, he feels even luckier to be able to press his lips against Harry’s, sliding back in between his legs and making sure to rub against Harry’s dick while he’s at it. 

“You’re ready?” Louis looks Harry in the eyes, opening the wrapper with his teeth and spitting the corner onto the floor. Harry nods eagerly, waiting impatiently as Louis rolls it on, pops open the bottle of lube. 

He sucks air in through his teeth at the cool liquid, but Louis swirls his fingers to heat it up just a bit, watching as Harry eyes flutter closed. 

He kisses him again, guiding himself into Harry. Louis can’t help the low groan that slips from his lips, feeling Harry tight and hot around him. His lips move slow and sloppy. “Oh my god,” Harry gasps, his fingers digging into Louis’ bare waist. 

He rocks his hips back and forth, the wet heat from Harry surrounding him and the world dissolving with every grind. All he can feel is Harry’s tingling skin on his own, his hands on either side of his head. All he can hear is Harry’s whimpers and moans, lighter and louder, dancing in the thick air. All he can focus on is the way Harry’s body moves with his own, his back scraping of the soft blanket, his nails on Louis’ sides. 

His eyes on Harry’s face, his fluttering eyes and quivering lips, the way his curls bounce makes Louis thrust harder, deeper, Harry’s head lolling to the side, nose scrunched, nails digging harsher. 

His motions are fluid, grabbing Harry’s hands from his own waist and re-pinning them above his head, where he keeps them. Harry’s back arches. “H-harder Louis. Fuck me harder.” 

Louis thrusts his hips so hard it knocks the breath from both of them, sending the moan from Harry’s throat into the open. Harry’s legs go to wrap around Louis’ waist, drawing him in closer, assisting in pushing him in harder. 

Time to change it up. 

Louis pulls out, in one swift movement, grabbing Harry and flipping him over, pulling his hips so that he’s face down, ass up in the air. Louis’ on his knees, making sure to apply a bit more lube before running his hand down Harry’s spine, until his fingers are wrapped tightly in Harry’s hair, holding his head against the mattress. 

From this angle, he has more power to thrust even harder and deeper, ignoring the rapid squeaking of the springs, the headboard shamelessly banging against the wall. 

“Do you like it?” Louis says though clenched teeth, Harry only able to moan in response. He’s pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his knees splayed but begging to be closer together as his muscles clench, tightening like a coil ready to spring. 

“I’m. I’m gonna come,” Harry whispers, words coming out slurred. 

Louis places a hand on Harry’s hip, directing him, pushing him and pulling him in with each thrust. The front of his bangs are drenched, sticking to his forth with beads of sweat traveling down the side of his cheek. His lips pulled harshly between his teeth. 

His own stomach is twisted into knots, his legs getting weaker and weaker with every ounce of blood rushing to his core. He notices Harry’s body going limp the heavy exhale of breath and Louis slows down, drawling it out and unclenching his stomach muscles, letting himself come, his head falling back. 

Louis falls to the bed beside Harry, pretending like he didn’t just throw the used condom onto the floor. Harry snuggles up next to him, although they’re both so hot that it’s miserable. 

He looks even more stunning (how the ever-loving _fuck_ is that even possible?) His curls dampened at the end, the bridge of his nose and cheeks blooming a bright shade of rosy pink. His lips are swollen are his eyes are tired, worn out. He looks fucked. 

Louis heart skips knowing he made Harry look like that. 

“How was it?” Louis asks, trying to pretend he’s not searching Harry’s eyes for the answer before he can even say the words. 

“Better than I ever pictured it,” He responds, his voice weak, “and trust me, I’ve imagined it many, many times.” 

Louis’ fingers raised to move a soaked piece of hair from the center go Harry’s forehead, where it dangled just beside the inner corner of his eye, “You’re so perfect.” 

“Hush,” Harry rolls his eyes, scooting away from Louis to the edge of the mattress. 

“Don’t think I will actually.” 

“You’re annoying.” 

“That’s not what you were saying two minutes ago.” Louis raises his brow and Harry throws his sweater at him, hitting him directly in the face. When Louis peels the fabric off, ignoring the sweat mark he left, Harry’s staring at him, “what?” 

“I love you.” 

Louis bites his lip to suppress a smile. “I’m not gonna get used to hearing that, y’know.” 

Harry nods, agreeing, “I’m going to take a shower then we can burn that jacket. You should probably go tend the fire before we get in trouble.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis sits up, wincing at the sore he can already feel in his lower abs. “meet me down there?” 

“Yep.” 

And Harry disappears behind the door and Louis sits in his bed and tries to convince himself that, yes, that just happened. And that he loves Harry and that Harry loves him and that they finally got to be with each other in a way they’ve always wanted. 

 

*****

 

They burned the jacket. They watched as the heat ate the material and it disappeared into the air, and Harry smiled the entire time. And so did Louis. 

 

Then, they went and laid on the couch, in the dark, and watched a movie. It was pretty fucking fantastic. 

During the next morning, Harry wakes up first. The bed still feels hot when his body isn’t there, and now that Louis thinks about it, he really can’t remember how empty it felt without him. The smell of hazelnut coffee and the warm hue of the sunlight cascading though the curtains encompasses his senses. He fucking hates mornings. 

He tries for a few seconds to go back to sleep, but the grumbling in his stomach decides it has other plans, so. He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning with his mouth so wide it hurts the corners of his lips. He pads the bed, looking for his phone that’s lost in the sea of blankets. Harry hums from the kitchen, Louis kind of glares in his direction. 

After maybe three seconds of looking, he realizes it’s useless and sighs, “Have you seen my phone?” 

The humming stops, “Yeah, I put it on the charger. It’s beside the bed, on the nightstand.” 

Louis throws his legs over the side and thinks about how he should sleep naked more often. Since he no longer has to fight the urge of temptation, he can sleep in the bed with Harry, both of them naked, and not feel like he’s going to explode at any given second. Plus, the cotton feels soft against his skin, and it kind of feels like he’s sleeping on a cloud. 

He picks up the phone and blinks when there’s a missed call notification on the screen. He doesn’t immediately recognize the phone number, but they left a voicemail. Louis slides on his robe, bare feet padding on the cool floors as he brings the phone to his ear. 

“Louis Tomlinson, I’m calling from the art museum. I know you don’t start for a couple of days, but I overlooked the portfolio you dropped off. I wanted to know if you’d like to come in and talk with some other up-and-coming artists and I? Give me a call back when you can.”

Louis pulls the phone back from his face so fast it flings and slides across the kitchen counter. Harry makes a face in his direction, which he ignores, scrambling to grab the phone. He clicks on the number in record speed and taps his foot as it rings. Harry watches, wordlessly, grabbing a mug and pouring Louis a cup. 

“This is Gregory Fields.” 

“Hi,” Louis’ voice is full of enthusiasm, “it’s Louis, I just missed your call.” He mouths a ‘thank you’ as Harry slides the mug over, resting his head on his hands. 

“Louis! I’ve been waiting for your call. Your portfolio is astonishing, you’ve got real talent, kid.” His voice is deep and mature, it’s just a bit intimidating. 

“Thank you so much, sir.” Louis smiles, and Harry mocks his tone. Louis widens his eyes at him, which only makes Harry laugh. 

“Do you study the fine arts in school or?” 

“I’m self taught, actually.” 

“Oooh,” Gregory responds, “well, I’m impressed. We have an exhibit dedicated to new artists work, it can be admired and also sold, if you’re willing. I think you’d be a good fit for our more realistic pieces.” 

Louis almost loses consciousness. Like he’s still sleeping and this is all just a dream. “I’d be honored.” 

“I’m glad to hear. We have the meeting at 2, would you like me to add you to the list of attendees?” 

Louis looks up, taking a sip of coffee, it feels smooth and hot going down his throat, “Yes! Yes, please.” 

Gregory pencils him in around 2. 

His mouth is still agape when he hangs up, “I never dropped off a portfolio.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Harry nods, “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I dropped off your portfolio last week. Hope that’s okay.”

Louis smile widens and his stomach flips a hundred times, as he leans over and kisses Harry, tasting hazelnut coffee and smelling sweet mint. He holds Harry’s cheek to kiss him a bit longer, whispering a ‘thank you’ over his lips. 

 

After finishing his first cup of coffee, he checks the time, it’s barely ten.

That leaves them quite a few hours to just relax. And, judging by the way Harry’s adjusting uncomfortably on the chair, they need the time to let their bodies recuperate from the night before. His muscles are pretty sore, but he chalks it up to the fact that he doesn’t do the whole ‘physical activity’ thing. Even since Harry lets him drive his car, he doesn’t walk around anymore. 

Eh, oh well. 

“So, anyway” Harry half smiles, the look is gorgeous and his eyes look an even brighter shade of green than usual, “did you sleep okay last night?” 

“No,” Louis acts annoyed, “you steal the blankets and leave me to die.” He has to look away to hide the heat rushing to his face, trying to wipe his mind of the visuals he's getting. The curvature of Harry’s smile, reminds him of the way they quivered with whiny moans. He shakes his head. 

“How else am I supposed to get rid of you?” Harry strikes back, and Louis holds his hand to his heart, acting as if a bullet just went through his chest. Harry doesn’t recant, but his smirk deepens when he sees the shade of pink over Louis’ cheeks. 

Harry decides he’s going to spend the day in bed, being lazy and not moving and Louis is completely fine with that. But, first, he has to try and clean up the mess that was once his immaculate flat. He’s neglected it over the last few days. He loathes dishes and how the hot water makes the tips of his fingers wrinkly and gross. But he hates dirty dishes more. 

He counts in his head, exactly thirteen minutes before he’s tired of cleaning and bored out of his fucking mind. He peeks into his and Harry’s bedroom and see’s Harry fast asleep, with his right leg sticking out from the blanket, the television on low and the fan humming. Louis debates crawling into bed with him, but decides against it or he’ll never want to leave. Instead, he persuades himself to fold laundry and call Niall to pass the time. 

He doesn’t answer, but luckily calls back a few seconds later. 

“Long time, no speak.” Niall teases. 

“Harry and I had sex last night.” 

The silence on the other end of the line is absolutely comical and Louis has to hold his fist to his mouth the muffle the laugh. He can picture Niall, mouth agape, on the other end. 

“That’s one hell of a way to start a conversation, don’t you think?” 

The clothes feel cold pulling them from the dryer. “I thought you’d like to be the first to know.” 

“Well,” He can hear Niall smiling, “how was it?” 

Louis breathes in through his nose, exhaling slowly through his mouth, still feeling the tingle beneath his muscles. “It was undoubtably the best night of my life.” 

He tried to spare Niall some of the more intimate details, given that the only people that needed to know were he and Harry. It was special, just between the two of them. 

They spoke like teenagers with excitement lacing every syllable, Louis checking to make sure Harry was asleep and not eaves dropping on the conversation. He’d probably blush at how Louis’ voice changes when he speaks about Harry, how his words soften, how incredibly fond he gets at the thought and memories. 

He also tells Niall that he said those three words to Harry, and how it felt like a thousand pounds were lifted from his shoulders when he’d said them back. Because never in a million years did Louis imagine that the sarcastic, tattooed and dangerous boy who showed up unannounced at his doorstep was now the boy tangled delicately between his sheets. 

Or how, “ _are you wearing a purple bathrobe_ ” could turn into, “I love you, too.” 

He thinks a lot about he and Harry’s first days together, and how he was so fucking sure that Harry would throw a wrench into his already messy life. And how he thought Harry was trouble, but still drowned in the desire of his smell. How he’d looked wearing that ratty shirt and leather jacket, hair still short and in disarray. 

Looking back, it doesn’t even look like his Harry. Because it wasn’t. 

The conversation ended with Niall asking if he could come over for dinner one night and stay over (in Harry’s old bedroom) Louis agreed, obviously, knowing all too well all the shit he has to catch him on up. All in due time. He wants to share all the details of how this meeting went.

Louis busied his hands and mind by making sure the flat was back to its original, beautiful, colorful and clean ambiance. He watched home renovation shows in the background and tried to picture what the next color would be. He’d pretty much done every color he could think of, and was debating going white with different color accents. 

Maybe he’ll get a plant. Plants seem zen, right? Plus, oxygen, it’s a win-win situation. 

He checks his phone, it’s eleven-fourteen. 

He pours a fresh cup of coffee and pads his way into the bedroom. Harry’s so out of it that he’s left a nice, attractive puddle of drool on the pillow beside him. Louis can’t help but sneak a picture, knowing Harry’d be pissed if he knew. He leans down, ever so softly, to press a gentle kiss to Harry’s cheek, and loves the way Harry scoots closer to him. 

He slides a rouge curls from over his eye before setting his mug down and wandering into the closet. His eyes scan over all the colors of his sweaters, trying to decide on one that says, ‘I’m professional, but I don’t take myself _too_ seriously.’

Peppermint green is the one he feels is perfect. That, paired with a pair of black pants and shiny black shoes. 

As Louis passes to go into the adjoining bathroom, he sees a large lump wiggle from under the blankets, “Louis?” 

“In here, babe.” He calls from the bathroom, trying to make sense of his hair. He wonders why it looks like he was involved in quite the tornado, then… he remembers exactly why his hair looks like that. He decides to shove his head under the faucet and soak it in water, since there is obviously no saving it. And he’s not feeling a shower. 

“Where are you going?” Harry’s wrapped in the blanket and leaning against the door frame. 

“I have that meeting, remember,” Louis hold his hand out for a towel, Harry hands him one off the rack, “how did you already forget?”

“I must’ve slept pretty fucking hard.” 

“I have a feeling they’re going to ask me questions about my paintings, wanna help polish my answers?” Louis asks, rubbing the towel over his head, satisfied when his hair is no longer dripping onto the tile. He doesn’t brush it, he feels it’ll look too ‘put together.’ He’s already gonna be wearing posh shoes, he doesn’t want to over-sell it. 

“I’ll give it my best shot.” Harry laughs, not super confident in his own words. 

He follows Harry into the bedroom, where he sits neatly on the edge and Harry sits crosslegged behind him. 

“So, Louis,” He begins, “what inspired you to begin painting?” 

 

 

****

 

The flat is now ocean blue. Harry picked it out. 

They went and picked up all of the little decorations, the new curtains, new candles, Harry even helped pick out a pretty new plant that will have a home beside the front door. They found an old, antique looking chair, and Louis gave into Harry’s plea’s of reupholstering it, “Because it’ll look really cool and unique. It actually became the centerpiece of the living room, but Louis won’t admit that Harry was right, he’s already so smug. 

Harry wants Louis to teach him to paint. He’s shit at it, but its pretty damn adorable. 

Now, they’re sitting on the balcony, Harry perched on Louis’ lap and leaning into his chest, head resting on his shoulder. Louis’ hand is running up and down the curve of Harry’s back, and it feels absolutely perfect. Warm, mixed with the light and chilled breeze of the air, the rustling of leaves in the distance. 

He can see where that raccoon was that scared the living shit out of both of them, back when Harry had a baseball bat and protected Louis from the unknown threat of furry animals. In a thunderstorm. Good times. 

The first night his fingers felt the enchanting silk of Harry’s skin. The way his mouth was dry and his words were muted, and the first time he ever told Harry that he was beautiful. 

It felt like it had been years since those days, and Louis could never hope to go back. He can’t imagine the flat without Harry, and didn’t really know why it never felt like home. He never wanted to be alone, to sleep alone, to wake up to a world that wasn’t completely full of Harry Styles. 

Full of his corny jokes and his inability to cook without almost setting something on fire. Full of his smell and the sound of his voice, his feet on the floor, his warm body in the bed, his infatuating smile. Louis didn’t know that something was missing in his life until he finally allowed Harry to become a part of it. 

_Love is putting someone before yourself. Their happiness is made to be a priority of yours. And you find yourself wanting the world to be on their side, find yourself wishing that you were everything they needed, they wanted. You know the tiniest things that make them, them. The things the like, don’t like, tolerate. You think about them, dream about them. And suddenly your future looks a lot more bleak without them in it. You study the features of their face and you know deep down, you could never forget. Engraved is the curve of their lips, the freckle, that lash that never wants to curl just right. The way one eye looks smaller when their smile is so big._

Louis holds Harry’s hand, feeling the way his thumb rubs over his knuckles. 

_Like two hearts, melting into one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, this has been an amazing story to write. I would love to possibly write some one shots delving into some more of Louis and Harry's love story. Maybe about Harry before he meets Louis, what Louis makes of his art career, and if Harry ever learns to paint (he probably doesn't.) Anything you guys want. Or maybe a second book? 
> 
> Send me some ideas or suggestions, I'd love to hear from you! You can come talk to me, ask me anything, or tell me your thoughts on the story :)
> 
> My twitter is [here.](https://twitter.com/sottsolo)  
> My tumblr is [here.](https://subharrybless.tumblr.com)


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